𝙓𝙓𝙄.
GOOD MOURNING

──────

GEORGE'S TIME OF death was seven forty-five pm.

***

The woman was stood outside the front of the hospital, watching as the traffic passed by; I'd noticed her from the restroom window three floors up, and had paused for a second, watching as she seemed to clutch her arms to her chest tightly. 

The distance didn't cover the fact that she seemed to be in intense pain, for a second, I thought that she was one of the surgical patients and that her pain was purely physical. But then, I recognised her haircut from the way it blew on the wind, and I took in a deep breath, flushed the toilet basin beside me and shrugged on my coat.

It was windy in Seattle, there was a bite in the air that hadn't been there this morning. At eight thirty pm, I could feel the humidity in the air, even inside. I averted prying eyes and kept my head down; people were crying, I'd shed a few tears just out of pure bewilderment and shock—but the woman outside was emotionally falling apart. 

I descended stairs quickly and almost masterfully, only pausing to open doors for sniffing surgical staff that was too bleary-eyed to recognise me. In passing, I swore that I caught the eye of a distraught looking Callie, but I didn't linger too long. I must have covered three floors in a matter of minutes.

Outside, the hospital seemed calm, despite the chaos in the air. I shoved open the same doors that I'd entered this place through and clutched onto my collar tightly as the wind swirled and stormed about my small frame. My body flushed with the cold air, but I felt it wash away the leftover tears that spotted my red cheeks. 

Tightly, I swallowed and pushed forwards, not slowing down until she just paces away from me.

"Amanda?"

I had to raise my voice slightly to attract her attention. 

The weather wasn't exactly silent and her whole body seemed to emit a loud, broken sniffing and crying, the sort of reaction you'd expect from a child who'd just lost everything but didn't quite understand why or how. I felt my heart twist, almost as painfully as the way she turned around and looked over at me, slow and hesitant like a timid animal.

Her whole face was swollen, eyes red and bloodshot, torrents of water lashed down her cheeks and her lips seemed unable to stop quaking. Her whole body shook, both from the chill of the wind and the emotions that were rampaging her weak body. 

She seemed unable to hold my gaze; her eyes sloppily spun around my earnest and struggling supportive expression. Amanda appeared completely out of it—and it broke my heart.

"Amanda, I know what you're going through... I..."

Working in Indonesia, this had been the job. Comforting people who had faced great losses, working alongside people who had gone through terrible and catastrophic things. These victims, they'd lost houses, family members, faced the loss of limbs, faced the loss of everything they'd ever known—

But then, Amanda had lost someone who had saved her life and someone she'd fallen in love within a second without even really knowing who they were. 

It wasn't a textbook case at all.

Silently, I held out a hand, watching with bated breath as she hesitantly looked down, still wobbling on her feet and clutching onto her own body as if it was all she had left. 

The incoherent wobble to her was enough to deeply concern me, but I let out a breath in pure relief as she almost concaved forwards, clutching my hand tightly.

"Okay, let's get you inside."

Amanda was unresponsive to my words, her eyes fixing on something that wasn't there. Carefully, I inched towards her, my eyes widening as she suddenly seemed to just collapse onto me; I quaked slightly as she passed out in my arms, but I stood strong, finding myself unable to even consider letting her just drop to the ground. 

I managed to manoeuvre the two of us into a position where I could help her into the hospital. I walked slowly, one arm wrapped around her torso, the other around her shoulders and neck.

Idly, I wondered whether I'd been like this every time that I'd gone out and gotten myself blackout drunk, every time that I'd had an emotional overdose and had been unable to hold my own weight. Amanda was distraught, she was unable to even open her eyes as I practically dragged her through the automatic doors and through the reception of the main hospital—there was not a soul around, somehow in the last few minutes, they'd managed to scatter to a whole host of places throughout the hospital. 

I cursed loudly until I noticed an administrator appear through the doorway.

"Hey!" I exclaimed loudly at her, causing her to jump slightly. 

She looked as though she was about to give me a stern talking to, at first, but then she seemed to notice the incredibly unconscious woman in my arms, and gave it a second thought. 

"Can I get gurney and a surgical resident... an attending? Something?" I squinted at her, attempting to be as assertive as possible "I think she's having a panic attack-"

The administrator didn't hesitate two seconds before dialling what I assumed was the ER phone number. She spoke quickly, as if she'd done it a thousand times before, before telling me, in a sharp tone that they'd be here as soon as possible and that I might as well make my way over there to speed the process up. 

She eyed me in disdain, and I sighed loudly; it would have been smarter to go to the pit door, but that would have taken longer—it was better to have Amanda inside than amongst the Ambulance bay where, knowing my luck, we'd both get run over by an incoming trauma.

So, I hoisted Amanda further up my shoulder, and turned towards the corridor, beginning the trek in the direction of the pit where we'd hopefully be able to get her on a drip, get her warmed up and maybe get some medication into her. 

I glanced down at her as her head hung limply, her body still occasionally shuddering from the emotional episode. I just prayed that she had stellar medical insurance for all of this.

"Beth? What happened?"

My head bounced upwards just in time to see Mark, alongside two of his little medical interns flying down the corridor towards me. 

I looked away for a split second, my chest tightening as he latched his attention on Amanda; I let him take her quickly, placing her onto the hospital bed with both grace, ease and tenderness. Once she was secured, he looked at me as I held my breath, trying not to follow Amanda's suit and start crying again.

"It's Amanda-"

 He looked over at me quickly; he must have noticed the redness to my eyes and how they were slightly puffy, as he hesitated for a split second. 

I avoided his eye and looked at Amanda with a sudden sadness rushing through me again, the interns were checking her pulse and yelled random medical terms that seemed to blend into white noise. But I managed to compose myself look enough to take a deep breath and begin filling him in with what was happening. 

"She was outside—I-I went to get her—I- George- I-"

"Dr Sloan, we can't waste any time!" One of his interns suddenly robbed me of his attention. 

We both averted our eyes onto Amanda, who seemed to be coming to very slowly. The sides of the hospital bed were pulled up violently and Mark turned around to give me one soft but determined look.

"You're coming with us."

The three of them took off down the corridor and I hurried in pursuit, tears threatening to spill from my already swollen tear glands. The closer we got to the pit, the livelier the hospital seemed to become. 

More and more faces came into focus and more and more grieving people could be seen—I took a sharp breath as we broke through the doors and managed to find a private room for Amanda. I stayed by the door as Mark began ordering around the interns, instructing them to set up IVs, insert needles and collect heating blankets. 

I just stood there, watching it all, until an intern roughly bustled past me and I kicked myself into action, wiping my accumulating tears on the back of my hand.

"Is there anything I can do?" 

My voice was hurried, quick and Mark looked up from inserting a drip to stare at me with a certain hesitation in his eye. I pleaded with my eyes, not finding myself able to look at Amanda as she groaned and lolled her head on the pillow. 

"Mark- I want to help, let me help."

After a brief but pregnant pause, Mark opened his mouth to respond, but Amanda suddenly let out a choking sob, worse than how she'd been behaving outside. Instantly, he leant over, grabbing a stool and almost throwing it down beside Amanda's bedside.

"Sit with her." He instructed stiffly, already busying himself with a handful of other things. I obliged numbly, grabbing Amanda's hand and plopping myself on the stool with a pained grimace. "I'm going to administer something to help her, stop her from having another attack." Mark turned away swiftly and began perusing the array of drugs his intern had taken from the drug cabinet at the end of the hallway. "I'm going to hook her up to 0.5mg of Alprazolam, it'll calm her down and reduce her anxiety."

"You want to give her a Xanax?" I asked suddenly, tensing as Mark took a new bottle of the drug and began to prepare it for administration. "That will take too long to work–"

The interns looked over at me with raised eyebrows as Mark shot me an irritated look. 

I tried again: "You need to give her something stronger-"

"Beth."

"Try Lorazepam, that'll work quickly and it'll last far longer-"

"Beth." Mark's jaw tensed and he didn't appear to appreciate my argument.

"I'm just saying, Lorazepam is more time-friendly, we're trying to stop her from having an anxiety attack now, not in an hour-"

 I almost tripped over my own words, one hand squeezing Amanda's and the other waving madly in the air as I attempted to persuade Mark. I needed him to listen—I needed to do something good and worthwhile today while everything else had gone to shit. 

"1.5mg of Lorazepam has an onset action of 30 minutes- surely that would be more effective than just-"

"Elizabeth."

"If you'd just listen to me, Mark!"

"Dr Montgomery."

Mark shot me a glare that I hadn't been on the receiving end of since New York. His voice was dead calm but he had a flare of challenge in his eyes as if he dared me to continue. Ever so often, his blue eyes would flicker in the direction of his interns, and I swallowed thickly. 

The interns turned their heads and busied themselves with the electric blankets. But Mark just took a deep breath; it wasn't like I humiliated him in front of his students, I just supposed that he still didn't like being argued with in his 'domain' aka the hospital.

"Lorazepam would not be suitable for this case as in these times, it is more used in the cases of anxiety disorders, which you should know," Mark spoke softly and with an incredibly bitter clarity that I narrowed my eyes at, watching as he inserted the Alprazolam into Amanda's drip. "Budget cuts mean that we don't use it in the surgical department, it's the same in most hospitals around the country. You would know that if you were a surgeon."

I bristled at his words and had to keep a tense, deadpan face to stop myself from shedding a few tears. "Huh, well, we all know how that went the first time, no thanks to you of course."

His jaw clenched but he didn't say anything, just turned to the interns as they hurried about, preparing the heated blankets for Amanda; her hand was cold, which was rather concerning. 

I wasn't sure how long she'd been outside, but she definitely had become a victim to the wind. The two interns piled them on top of Amanda as Mark put her back into a subconscious state with a sedative, hoping that after a long sleep most of the emotional trauma would have passed away.

I dropped her hand, watching as it fell limp and hung off of the table. I scooted backwards in the chair, pressing my free hands to my lips as the interns dispersed out of the door and were whisked away by the busy world of the pit outside. 

I just sat there for a few moments, staring at Amanda as Mark worked on trying to contact one of the general surgeons to help him raise her core body temperature.

A few minutes afterwards, I realised that I was shaking. 

My hands quaked and the tremors filled my limbs as I concentrated on keeping my breathing sound; Mark paced in the corner on his pager and phone, even leaving the room for a few moments to the pit phone. All the while, I just drank in the silence like a sponge, until I felt my chest swell with the weight of it all.

The burn of tears was undeniable and I closed my eyes tightly, rubbing at them. I didn't want to be someone who was going to be the sort of girl to cry over someone they'd known for a month and a half; but there was a bit of guilt in me, just like Amanda who was lying on the table in front of me, sound and still. 

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw John Doe lying in this same room ten hours ago, bloodied and beaten, literal roadkill.

Wait, not John Doe... George.

I blinked furiously as Mark re-entered the room, still rather blatantly ignoring me because of our little spat. Just the sight of his stupid face mixed with the weight on my chest was enough to make me want to throw up again. 

I just wanted to go home, sleep in the bed that Izzie had paid for and in the house that Meredith had invited me into, listen to some classical music and maybe shed a few tears over a man who had only been kind to me.

Silently, I stood up to leave. 

Amanda didn't need me.

She'd wake up in a few hours, maybe be given more medication, be told that I'd finished my shift at 9 pm and that the hospital could supply emotional counselling if required. I doubted they'd assign me to her case, and besides, I don't think I'd have the heart to be able to do it.

I dragged my feet quietly to the door but was stopped in my tracks as Mark's voice sounded coldly behind me.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

I didn't reply immediately, just closed my eyes tightly and begged myself not to start crying again. I didn't want to face Mark's assholery, not matter how astonishing it was. I just wanted to lie down and sleep. 

He spoke again.

"This is your patient, this is your priority."

"I need a moment." I insisted loudly, with my back still turned towards him. 

He sounded angry, of course, he did. Mark was always angry when it came to me. 

But I just skirted around an incoming trauma and leant against the wall of the hospital, raking my fingers through my hair and breathing deeply.

"In this career, in this fast-paced environment, you don't get moments." 

Mark stood in front of me, with his hands on his hips and nostrils flared. I didn't look at him, just pressed my hand to my forehead and leant over, not sure whether I'd end up just upchucking like I usually did when I felt emotionally all over the place. 

"In a hospital, you have patients—you have people you have to care for and people that rely on you," His words made me flinch but I just sunk against the brick, "I know that you're not particularly familiar with those concepts, but it's something that it's important, especially if you're going to be working here."

I laughed to myself, placing my palms over my eyes. The laugh cracked at the back of my throat, although he didn't seem to notice that. "Wow, you really are an inconsiderate asshole, I'd almost forgotten that in the last ten minutes."

"You're unbelievable," Mark scoffed, despite the fact that I felt the exact same about him. He seemed to take a deep breath to prepare himself for another considerably lengthy little lecture. "There's a patient in there that is having a mental breakdown and you're the psychiatrist here, you're the one whose supposed to be working with her when she wakes up from her sleep—you're the one who brought her to me, so take responsibility and man up. You don't get a moment, you get people dying, people who need you to help them. You don't get a moment, you get a job."

I'd always had an inkling that Mark could not sensible when it came to me. 

I was sure that if it had been Lexie sitting out here, attempting to recollect herself after one of her friends had died, he'd be supportive like he'd been in the early lengths of her our relationship. But it wasn't Lexie, it was me. Plain, boring Beth who he only saw as highly irresponsible and selfish.

"Motherfucker," I mumbled to myself, before straightening and looking straight at Mark with slightly watery eyes. "You sound exactly like Addison, do you know that?"

"Well someone's got to keep you in check." I raised an eyebrow at him and laughed loudly, the sound cracking. When I looked back at Mark, he was looking at me like I was one of the most unreasonable people in the world. He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know what—it's a good thing you never made it through that surgical internship, you would have been a terrible doctor. You have no values at all."

I stared at him. 

His words didn't quite register in my brain but when they did I blinked quickly, making sure that the sting of his words didn't transfer to the sting of tears in my eyes. 

It was a low blow, but Mark had never been a stranger to them. 

Almost subconsciously, another slightly choked chuckle fell from my lips and I kissed my teeth. 

I adjusted my position and looked at Mark, my face void of emotion.

"George died." My statement was plain; there was a slight amount of recognition in the light that cast across Mark's face. I inhaled a shaky breath and scratched my nose, clearing it with a long exhale. "You do know who it is that you just attended to, right? That's the woman from earlier... Amanda... the reason that G-George threw himself in front of a truck. George was in town, going to the lunch that I'd invited him to because I wanted to be a supportive friend and make something out this place which I'm now... now beginning to fucking resent."

"Beth-"

I held up a hand, silencing him. "Oh no, I'm not finished." 

I looked up at the sky quickly, wiping unshed tears away quickly. 

"Amanda's in there, because she feels responsible," I tried to ignore how my voice shook slightly, "She feels like she is as guilty as the person who ran into George and put him into that state. Which she is... she's responsible, in a way—just like I am."

"Beth."

The heat had fallen away from Mark's voice and now he was the one who sounded slightly guilty. I avoided his eyes and shook my head, I didn't want Mark to talk anymore, god, that's all he was doing. Ironically, that's something I'd always wanted for our relationship, communication. We'd both been hopeless at talking about our feelings, Mark had been a guy who skirted around subjects and I'd just ignored them completely. Now I just wished he'd shut up.

"If George hadn't gone downtown, and he hadn't been walking across that corner and seen Amanda and thrown himself in the path of a fucking truck—he wouldn't be dead." My eyes dipped down to my hands as I wrung them, my fingers still quaking slightly. "He was nice, he was friendly and I wanted to help him—and he died because of it. And that's why I need a moment, Mark—a moment alone."

Mark was silent, and I cherished that moment for a long while. 

I composed myself and adjusted my jacket. He didn't seem to be leaving and I supposed that he'd left Amanda with his interns. I scoffed to myself; he could talk about responsibilities and values all he wanted but he'd abandoned Amanda just like I had. I could feel him lingering, his presence was almost suffocating and my skin crawled as he stood there, clearly lost for words.

"Mark," I said his name rather softly, causing him to look over at me with this unreadable look in his eyes. "I'm not going to get drunk, I'm fine. I'm not going to do a fucking line. I'm not going to be stupid––"

He hesitated, and I could see it in his eyes that he didn't believe me. 

I let out a cold laugh and shook my head. 

"Mark—just fuck off."

"I just don't-" 

He reached out and touched my arm and I recoiled instantly, disgust running through me. It was a knee-jerk reaction and I stared at him almost incredulously.

"Get out of here," I stressed again. "Leave me alone—don't you have a patient to look after, don't you have a fucking girlfriend to console?"

"Beth-"

"Go Mark." I was angry, rightly so. Mark was incapable of sensing when he was unwelcome. "Go look after Amanda, I finished work an hour ago—I-I don't even know what I'm doing here. I don't want you here." He seemed to look at me with heavy eyes and my lip curled in disgust. "Get a life, Mark. Does it get you off? Harassing people like this? I really wouldn't be surprised; you've always been a creep."

I knew that he wouldn't be able to leave unless I gave him a reason to, so I channelled my agitation into something more bitter. Mark's posture stiffened and he seemed to stare at me for a long moment, before his face grew cold and the softness in his eyes solidified into something more resentful.

Good. I recognised a slight hurt in his eyes as he silently turned on his heel and stormed off towards the hospital. What an ass.

***

Meredith didn't come home that night; she spent the night at Dereks, the two newlyweds who hadn't had the best of a wedding day. 

I supposed that their first night together wasn't as romantic as they'd hoped; she appeared at the house in the morning, eyes slightly red as she trudged through the door, Derek following her. I stood in the foyer, my body wrapped in Izzie's comforter and one hand nursing a freshly made cup of coffee.

The first thing Meredith did was look at my coffee and give me a pointed and slightly hungry stare. My lips twitched.

"There's a fresh pot in the kitchen."

Without even saying anything, she went flying past me like a hurricane, the only trace of her left being the scent of her shampoo that lingered in the air. 

My eyes flickered over to the man who I considered my brother, and I gave him a weak smile; Derek looked back at me with round, sad eyes and I knew that he'd had a rough night.

He let out a long sigh and came towards me in two steps, engulfing me in a large bear hug. I managed to manoeuvre my coffee cup around the gesture, my head poking above his shoulder; he seemed to need the hug more than I did. 

He was warm and familiar and familial, his tired breaths fell against my neck and I clutched onto him, soothingly patting him on the back. It was a nice hug, Derek seemed to need it a lot, I supposed that he'd been preoccupied with Meredith's feelings last night.

The hug spanned a few moments and Derek managed to step away with a perfectly pristine grin on his face.

"How you doing, Beth?"

His question was perfectly innocent and I smiled warmly, musing over my coffee. "I'm doing great, thanks for asking Der." I wasn't lying. I'd taken a moment, despite it being a long night and a long time to readjust myself. I'd taken a moment and now I felt better.

I guessed that the same couldn't be said about the rest of George's colleagues.

"Are you sure?" He kept a sharp eye on the way I titled my head, my lips rolling together as if I was thinking long and hard. 

I paused for a second, glancing over my shoulder at an absent-minded Meredith, who seemed to be deep in thought while pouring her morning coffee.

"I'm better than some." Was all I answered. 

Derek nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer before he trotted through into the kitchen. I went to follow him, but I was cut short by my cellphone as it started ringing in my purse, which I had dumped at the bottom of the stairs after my unceremonious return last night. I frowned, quickly rummaging through the bag, letting the comforter fall off my shoulders. When I reached it, it was an unidentified number with an LA area code. 

"Hello?"

"Is this Elizabeth Montgomery?"

"Yes," I replied hesitantly, my eyebrows bunching together as a man with a heavy Southern accent spoke down the line. I wasn't exactly sure what this phone call was about, but I had a sneaky suspicion that Addison was somewhat tied in with all of this.

"My name is Clark Pitt, I'm the head of financing at the Bank of America Calabasas branch, are you free to discuss your account?" I blinked, my brain not quite registering the words that were coming through the speaker.

"I'm sorry—what?"

"You are Elizabeth Montgomery, correct?"

"Yes."

"We've received a notice to open your account and give your free unlimited access from an Addison Forbes Montgomery. Are you local, we can do this in person if you're willing to come to a Los Angeles based branch."

"Uh." My eyes widened in realisation and I felt a slightly stupefied smile cross my face. "Uh- I'm in Seattle."

"We can arrange a contract to be sent to you if you feel that would be easier for you?" I instantly replied yes to him, because that sounded relatively painless. "A signature on that contract would just make sure that you have full control of all of your money and have unlimited access to the money left to you by your grandparents. All we need is an address."

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. "Can I have two seconds?"

"Of course."

I was a whirlwind exploding into the kitchen, causing Meredith almost to drop her cup of coffee. My words were a jumbled sentence along the lines of, "what's this address?" and Meredith stared at me with wide eyes for a few seconds, not really processing what I'd just said. 

I repeated it at a slower pace and Derek was the one who recounted the address of Meredith's childhood home as his wife seemed to be eternally buffering. At a rather hurried speed, I repeated all of the words into the receiver and grinned to myself as Derek and Meredith both exchanged a look between them.

The bank manager said that it would take a day for the contract to arrive and another day for me to send it back. I'd have full control over my assets in two days. Two days.

The message from Addison was clear: 

I trust you. 

That left me fuzzy inside and I wasn't too sure whether I liked it or not.

As I hung up the phone, I felt a gigantic weight come off of my shoulders. 

With Addison controlling my money, I'd been limited to minor payments at one time, meaning that I'd never been able to buy anything like a car or an apartment for the last near decade. Amelia had been the one who'd paid for my tickets to Canada and my tickets to Paris, and the charities that I'd worked for had paid to get me into Indonesia. 

Returning into the kitchen, I blasted away the frosty atmosphere with a stellar smile. I could hear Meredith mumble something bleak to Derek as I passed and poured myself a bowl of Fruit Loops for the first time in seven years. 

As Derek seemed to reply in undertone, I felt the weight of everything topple back onto me again.

Where there was a moment of happiness and resolution, that was still a moment of sadness and grief.

I sighed through a mouth of cereal and hurriedly past the newly wedded couple and made a beeline for Izzie's room.

Hopefully, this could distract me, for at least a little while.

***

"It's a beautiful studio apartment if you pay attention to the furnishings; it's all the original concrete with select plaster panels and the original hardwood floors."

The real-estate agent was a chatty woman in her late thirties, with her hair in a tight updo and a seemingly permanent smile on her face. 

She stood in the doorway, her posture perfectly upright and eyes following me as I slowly wandered into the heart of the open, empty space in front of me. I heard the click of her ruby red heels as she trotted forwards, placing the binder in her arms down onto a glass table left behind by the past owners.

I bit down on my lip, raising my head and looking around at the second apartment I'd viewed in the last few days. The real-estate agent, who was representing the landlord of this apartment block, had greeted me outside and launched into a long talk about how this apartment was in a prime location and had just come onto the market as the owners had spontaneously moved to the other side of the world. 

She'd explained to me, all with her almost-airline-hostess-esque-perfect-smile that the apartment was in an area perfect for bus routes, nightclubs and even schools if I was interested in it- I'd laughed at that and had said something along the lines of "I don't think so, not for a long time."

I paced towards the window, breathing in the slight dust that lingered in the air. 

It was a comfortable size, not the biggest apartment in the world but I could cover the space from the kitchenette in the corner to the bedroom at the back of the apartment in ten or so large steps. With an intent expression, I trailed my fingers across the window ledge, my eyes catching onto the view outside; I was met with the sight of Seattle Grace Hospital, of which was nestled directly across the road, meaning that this would most likely be one of the best options for me.

I turned around, leaning against the wall and looking across the whole apartment with deep scrutiny. 

Could I imagine myself living here? Most probably, yes. 

It was reminiscent of my apartment in New York, the same apartment that I'd been forced to give up after becoming unemployed and having Addison cut off my funding. It was a light, open space, completely different to Meredith's house. 

For a second, I closed my eyes, soaking up the silence of it all—but my peace was momentarily interrupted by the sound of realtors in the apartment opposite.

"Don't worry about the disturbance." The real-estate agent chipped in softly as she approached me, passing me an information booklet about the apartment building's living costs. "There was some major water damage in the apartment over the corridor due to some neglect from the past owners. But don't worry, the residents were evicted earlier this month and they're almost finished with the work."

I nodded softly, not having many words. Compared to the last apartment I'd viewed this one was practically heaven; I'd first approached a rather questionable open house on the waterfront and hadn't been too overjoyed with what I'd found. 

But I'd been desperate to move out and had almost bought it—only for Arizona Robbins to interject and mention that there was an apartment for sale in the same building as her girlfriend. I'd been sceptical at first, as the promise of an affordable, comfortable apartment only across the road from where I worked definitely sounded too good to be true.

But Arizona had been right.

Could I imagine myself kicking off my heels by that door and crawling onto a couch by the window? Yes, I definitely could. 

Could I imagine bringing some of my old furniture from New York out of storage and make this beautiful space mine? Of course.

I was somewhat shell shocked; this apartment was perfect for me, but I was a pessimist by trade. I was sure that there would be something bad about it, maybe something that the real-estate wasn't telling me.

A dodgy drug cartel neighbour? I'd checked with Arizona and she said that Callie's only current neighbour was a cute old woman who liked to bake cookies and give them out at the holidays, definitely not intrusive to my sobriety pact.

A dead-end contract? I'd looked over it briefly with the landlord (who also appeared nice and friendly) and it had seemed like a straight forward, easy contract which I particularly liked.

A ceiling that was going to fall on top of me in the middle of the night and crush me? I squinted up above me and shrugged. The plaster looked reasonable enough.

This apartment was perfect for a single woman, in a perfect location and affordable. I let out a breath.

"I'm interested," I said to the real estate agent, causing her to clap her hands together. 

I briefly read over the booklet she'd handed me and agreed on going to meet the landlord to get a few things sorted. It oddly reminded me of applying for a job, it was a two-way agreement. You had to like the apartment and the landlord had to like you, it was a dizzying spiral of first impressions. 

"But—there's a catch," I sighed, "I need to be out of where I am at the moment, as soon as possible."

"Oh," She said with a wide smile, "That's no problem."

***

Balancing a cup of coffee, a medical journal and new debit card in my hands, I stalked through the surgical wing department, the only thing keeping me awake being the five shots of espresso I'd downed before arriving. 

Not only, was today forecast to be erratically busy, today was also the day of George O'Malley's funeral.

I sighed to myself as I rounded the corner towards the elevators; I was still debating whether I should go. I knew that George was my friend, but I also didn't know him well enough to give some sort of eulogy or be surrounded by mourning people at his expense. 

That and that I hated funerals—I'd been surrounded by so much death in Indonesia that just the thought of attending a funeral was enough to make me want to bury myself in my new apartment and throw away the key. Even when I'd gone through the deaths of family members, I'd been reluctant to attend the. 

The last funeral I'd attended was back in New York, when Calum's mother had had a run in with cancer and I'd held his hand tight the whole time.

I wasn't even sure I had a black dress or anything; there was something about Seattle that kept making me have to buy clothing for things, first it was Derek's (or more appropriately, Izzie and Alex's) wedding and now it was a funeral, all in the span of a month and a half. I was sure that by the end of my residence in Seattle, I'd have a whole new wardrobe.

I gnawed on my bottom lip as I waited for the elevator to open. I stood beside a medical intern that I'd never met before, who was far too engrossed in a medical chart to even notice I was there. 

There was little conversation at all today, but that was good. Today was the sort of day that didn't call for conversation—it was three days after George had been announced as John Doe and the exact same day that my papers for my apartment finally cleared and I was officially a (somewhat) homeowner.

"—so I thought, why the hell can't we just do it right here?—"

The elevator ground to halt and I instantly bustled inside of it, only to come across two people who paused in conversation at the sight of me. I gave them both earnest smiles and I took a long drag of caffeine, moving aside so the intern could somehow wedge herself into a corner. 

It was a considerably small visitors elevator, not the sort of lift that the surgical staff used, so I had half a mind to give the two surgical staff members an odd look as they stared at me intently. I quirked an eyebrow, meeting the eyes of Cristina Yang directly.

She was glaring at me, her eyes in slits as I realised it was her who stopped talking at my appearance. 

Behind her, I caught sight of Meredith who seemed to roll her eyes and shake her head subtly; I looked between the two of them, slightly confused. 

I even sneaked a glance at the intern, but she seemed disinterested. Meredith, on the other hand, seemed to slump against the back of the elevator, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Uh, hey?"

"Don't 'hey' me." Cristina barked rather sharply. If even possible, my eyebrows raised even further; searching for an answer, I stared at Meredith intently. Just as before, she just let out a breath.

"Cristina-"

"She's broken my boyfriend!"

The intern beside me jolted, her head suddenly raising as she looked up from her medical papers. 

Her eyes flickered from the heated cardiothoracic surgeon to me, her face flushing as she realised that she was stranded in the middle of a conversation that definitely wasn't professional. Meanwhile, I just gaped for a second, completely caught off-guard with the sudden fire that flared up within Cristina's eyes.

"Um-"

"Don't 'um' me." She retorted, her eyes narrowing. "You're using your little psychy powers on my boyfriend and turning him into a celibate robot."

Ah. I might have guided Owen into the next step of his emotional rehabilitation, which was going pretty well, by the way, and eased him into a "stress-free zone". It was very apparent that it was practically impossible for Owen to evade stress, after all, he was paid to work in highly stressful situations, doing triage and trauma work every day. 

I'd managed to delve into Owens' catacombs of a subconscious and decode the fact that the other thirty per cent of all of his stress and anxiety were closely tied to his current relationship.

I'd thought that taking the physical part of his relationship out of the picture for a few weeks or so would be beneficial to his mental state; which was showing promising results. But, what I hadn't taken account was an ir*ate and sexually frustrated girlfriend.

My lips twitched as I avoided a grin, realising why Cristina was so cold. The intern, who was stood beside me, seemed to burn a glorious red colour, embarrassed by the personal nature of Cristina's statement. I just chuckled to myself lowly as Cristina silently fumed.

"Oh, she's laughing now," Cristina stated humourlessly, turning to Meredith with a mixture of exasperation and agitation. I caught sight of Meredith in the reflection of the metal doors; the dirty blonde held her head in his hands, rubbing her forehead tiredly. "Do you really think that this is funny?"

Luckily, the elevator chose this time to get to my destination, the psychiatry department. I curtly squeezed myself out of the confined space before Cristina could fit in any more words and briefly turned around to see Cristina's glare catch at my heel. As people from the department filed into the lift, I could see Meredith talk to Cristina in a low tone. 

The Asian doctor scoffed loudly, seemingly completely done with the situation. I smirked to myself, turning around and heading towards my office.

I inclined my head to the psychiatry nurse that sat at the front desk and breezed through the crowded reception. I'd slowly fallen into a routine; I'd come into work, grab a coffee from the cart in the main entrance, then, if I had time, I'd head to the hospital library and check out a medical journal to peruse over. 

My timetable was getting increasingly busier, with more and more cases being signed over to me, alongside new patients that were coming along from other hospitals.

Just yesterday, I'd carried out my first EEG scan with one of the technicians on a woman with irregular sleeping patterns, and I'd felt the familiar excitement in my chest. It was the same sort of feeling that I'd had throughout medical school, throughout my medical internship- or at least, what I'd had of it. While watching the brain scan load and the brain wave patterns filter through the electrodes, I'd felt sad, missing the feeling of a promising future in surgery. But then I'd covered it with a determined and confident game face as the technician conversed with me.

It was a familiar setting, a hospital, but it was also so different from what I was used to.

"Elizabeth, can I have a word with you?"

I was halted in my steps by the sound of my boss, who was lingering outside of my office, seemingly waiting for me. 

I looked at Dr Wyatt with a furrowed brow, looking from her to my new watch that was fastened to my wrist; I had at least ten to fifteen minutes until Owen's appointment. I gave her a light nod, relaxing my face into a smile and going to unlock the door.

The light sliced across my office, illuminating the neat paper stacks I'd left on my desk, the blinds being left ajar by the early morning cleaning team that swept through. I held open the door for Katherine rather half-heartedly, giving her a calm and orderly smile, but really inside I was shitting myself.

What did I do?

I'd had enough jobs to know that it was generally bad when your bosses want to have a word with you. My first job had been in a bakery and Connecticut and I'd lasted two months before my boss had wanted a word, and that had been that. I briefly glanced down at my feet, where I saw the comfortable flats that I wore into work every morning. 

Katherine seemed to notice them briefly and I could only assume that I was coming across as rather unprofessional; my shoes were scuffed and dirty and weren't very presentable at all. I gave her a tight smile, waltzing towards my desk shortly and leaning under the table. I'd fallen into the habit of stashing heels in my office and just changing into them when I eventually made it into the office. So, as Katherine took her place opposite me, I awkwardly kicked off my shoes and shoved my heels sloppily onto my feet underneath the table.

"I'm just here to check on how you're doing." She drawled as I slipped slightly in my chair, fiddling with the back of my shoe. I lifted my head, nodding softly as she fixed me with a sharp and almost bird-like eye. "Have there been any issues or anything?"

"No..." I answered rather quickly, pausing to adjust my tights. "Not that I can think of."

"That's good." Katherine didn't sit down but rather lingered on the air. She stood there, her arms folded over her chest as she watched me straighten up and feign some degree of professionalism. "I heard back from your meeting with the board, they had a good response."

"That's really good," I replied, smiling at her serenely. 

Katherine watched me closely as I got up (walking in heels was slowly allowing me to steer closer to Gisele Bündchen and away from a newborn baby giraffe) and I could feel her eyes on me as I took some of the papers from my desk and perused through the filing cabinets behind her.

"I was hoping to get some feedback on how your first month or so has gone."

Feedback. I halted over Owen's medical file, taking a moment to inhale sharply through my nose. How had my first month at Seattle been? 

Well, that was going to take longer to summarise than a five-minute chat. I rolled my lips together, gently closing the cabinet.

My brother had been on the doors of death. I'd been curtly reintroduced to a hellfire family situation. Had come across my ex-boyfriend and his new toy and had come face to face with my worst-case scenario that I'd been hoarding away for years. 

I'd tried my hand at psychiatry and befriended someone who wanted to dedicate their life to something good—and then George had died.

"It's been great," I replied with a dry mouth, supplying one of those good-will smiles again. "It's been easy to, um, fall into routines and stuff—I've really enjoyed it."

She tilted her head to the side. "That's good to hear."

She looked at me long and hard, as if she had the ability to stare through me. Her dark, beady eyes, crackled with some sort of knowledge that she held above me like an axe hanging over the head of a sixteenth-century criminal. I suppressed the urge to raise an eyebrow, sensing a distortion in his tone, and met her gaze with ease.

"Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?" I proposed the question with an unintended patronising edge to my tone. Katherine barely blanched.

"Actually, yes." She nodded stiffly, causing my head to reel with worst-case-scenarios. She didn't seem to hesitate before saying something that made my heart shudder. "Are you intending on attending George O'Malley's funeral?"

I was caught off-guard. "Ex-excuse me?"

She seemed to drink in my every movement with those little eyes.

"Doctor O'Malley—he was a resident working in the surgical department. You worked together on the Malloy case- the man who jumped out of a window-"

"Yes, I know who George is." My voice was twisted and I pushed my hair behind my ear, dropping my gaze down onto the paper in front of me. "I lived with him for a little bit- I-"

"Are you intending on going to his funeral this afternoon?"

I pursed my lips. I hadn't really thought about it, well that was a lie, of course, I had. Meredith had stopped me on my way out this morning to ask me if I was coming to the cemetery later, and I'd just shrugged and said maybe. 

It was an odd feeling; I'd only known George for a short amount of time, yet we'd made such a big impact on each other lives—and now he was dead and I was on the guestlist for his funeral, apparently.

"Possibly," I answered, as stoically as I could, but I faltered towards the end. Katherine picked up on that instantly. I fleetingly let my eyes wander in between her hard-pressed features and the papers in front of me. "I've thought about it a little bit, but I still don't know whether or not I'm going to go, after all—I've got a lot of work."

 I gestured down at Owens file.

"I'm happy to take some of your patients so you can go and pay your respects," My boss said idly, her eyes glimmering softly in the light of the window behind me. I paused for a second, seriously considering her offer.

George was a nice guy and, even though I only knew him for a little while, he deserved a lot. He, alongside Meredith and Izzie, had been extremely welcoming when I'd first arrived in Seattle and I couldn't have appreciated it more than I did. So what if I didn't like funerals? This would probably be the only one I'd go to for a long while. So, slowly, I nodded, inwardly trying to figure out how I'd be able to work it into my schedule.

"I guess-" I smiled weakly at Katherine, in I hope what was a warm manner. "I'd really appreciate that." I quickly logged onto the computer and showed her my timetable. "I just have a follow up on a few patients and I'm on-call for a few on the in-house patients and surgery. I'll just need these ones covered."

"I'm sure I can find someone to do them for you." She answered. 

There was something about her tone that I couldn't quite pin-point. My gaze flashed in between my desktop and the woman sat in front of me. I gave her an uneasy smile.

"Is there anything else that you wanted to talk about?"

Katherine barely missed a beat. "Yes, actually. I wanted to continue our little chat about the staff support system."

This caught my attention. I recalled briefly that she'd mentioned a system that would allow me to go outside of the hospital for any mental health support. My eyebrows slowly descended over my brow and I tilted my head to the side, too caught on the way she seemed to speak with a strong underlying purpose. I frowned slightly.

"I was hoping to pass you the number of one of my old colleagues that I worked alongside a few years ago. He's a formidable doctor and one of the leading specialists in his field... He's currently doing a term of work at Mercy West." She seemed as though she was completely convicted by the guy, so I could only wonder why she thought I'd need to see a specialist of all things. "His name is Doctor Kyle Bateman-"

My blood ran cold.

"Yeah, I'm familiar with him." I nodded shortly. "I attended his class on bereavement at Harvard. It was just a refreshers course and I actually wrote my dissertation on his study into long-term trauma caused by the onset of loss." Even caught in between bemusement and surprise, Katherine managed to keep cool, something I hoped to master in the future. "Why are you, why are you referring me to him?"

I was utterly confused. Bateman was the best at emotional trauma work. My ex-boyfriend (or was he? I didn't know what Charlie quite fell under these days) was his prodigy, his legacy and I'd initially met Charlie through the Harvard programme that fed into Doctors Beyond Borders relief work. 

The fact that he was in Seattle was rather startling; I knew that Bateman was the eccentric sort of researching psychologist who liked to stash himself in basements, rather than hospitals. I didn't even realise that he was a practising psychiatrist.

"I just thought you could need some emotional support, maybe not now, but in the future."

I didn't like the way she said that. There was something about her tone, about her voice and about the way that she seemed to move forward in her chair at the mention of the future. I knew that body language, I recognised it.

It was the same body language of the man who'd hired me for a week or so at a liquor store after getting fired from the hospital. He'd been very warm and welcoming towards the beginning, but then things had changed. 

Before he'd dismissed me (which was what I liked to call it instead of fired) he'd become rather estranged. I'd later found out that Derek and Mark had meddled, mentioning in passing that I was an alcoholic and that maybe it wasn't the best for me to be hanging around endless supplies of the stuff that was fuelling my addictions.

I knew the look in Katherine's eye. Someone had spoken to her.

"Did someone speak to you about me?" I asked poignantly, never being one to beat around the bush. Katherine's eyes glimmered silently and unlike earlier, she took her time in replying. 

Her lips quirked and she seemed to compose herself as she took a short breath.

"Just standard procedure," she answered, although we both knew that she was lying. 

I supposed that this part was standard procedure. The whole, sit down and talk part—but there was something about it that implied there'd been a complaint about me or something. I stalled in my chair and kissed my teeth.

Huh, I wonder who has a problem with me.

"Thank you," I said softly, all of the dots in my head joining together. Katherine smiled at me. She clearly knew that the man-child that had faux-reported me had a personal vendetta against me. I could keep it together, I'd proved that back in Indonesia. She knew it and she, hopefully, trusted that.

"Don't worry." Was all she said in return. "And, your personal life is none of my business, but just be careful. I don't want any feuds between the psychiatry and surgery department anytime soon."

***

A funeral meant that I sporadically was able to live out my inner emo phase from my late teens. It was fleeting, but stuck with me; I listened to My Chemical Romance on the way to the hospital, humming to the music as I arrived back at the hospital. 

I'd spent my lunch break in a changing room at Macy's, trying to find a black dress at the last minute. It was a moment that gave me serious déjà vu, I happened to be in this situation a lot since moving to Seattle and I was beginning to think that I'd need to get a wardrobe that covered more event bases.

I'd left the store in a black, modest dress that my mother would have picked out and a pair of sunglasses that made me look like Anne Hathaway from The Dark Knight Rises. Returning to the hospital, I shrugged on my lab coat, donned my familiar pair of heels and went back to work, waiting for my leave where I'd meet Owen in the parking lot.

Owen had cancelled his appointment last moment on the grounds that his schedule was too busy. 

He'd come into my office with a pager screaming in his ear and had been extremely apologetic. He'd explained that he was overwhelmed with trauma work and wouldn't be able to make the appointment. Owen had then gone on to offer a half-hearted carpool with Derek and Dr Webber to the cemetery.

Always the most professional, I'd agreed.

That left me walking around the hospital in complete black and doing my makeup rather haphazardly in the empty female restroom just down the corridor from my office. It was only when I reached the parking lot, with my pager in a clutch and a pair of heels strapped to my feet, that I felt like I was in one piece. 

I'd skipped out on the mascara and had a pack of pills for nausea on me, just in case. I took a deep breath, filtering the scent of the polluted air through my nose and back out through my mouth.

Owen was leaning against a car at the back of the parking lot, in the staff parking. I could spy his strawberry blonde hair from the loading bays, so very slowly made my way through the cars and traffic, before I could pick out who was with him. 

The car seemed to be a smart-looking Porsche; I didn't take Owen as a flashy car sort of guy, so I instantly assumed that it belonged to Derek, who was hurriedly shrugging on a jacket just beside the driver's wheel. Owen's head raised at my arrival and I gave him a solemn smile, of which he returned.

"You look nice," Derek commented wryly from the other side of his car; there was a sense of tongue-in-cheek to his tone so I rolled my eyes. 

I looked over at him as his blue eyes flickered in the light of the sunlight and shot him a dry and rather lifeless smirk.

"I like to defy expectations ever so often," He didn't seem too disappointed with my reply, so I continued. Glancing over at Owen, I saw him staring at the ground, rather zoned out from the exchange. "It keeps people on their toes."

He chuckled slightly, but it was awkward in the ambience of the group. It hung in the stiff air and I felt the hair on my arms bristle with the awkwardness. Derek's eyes bounced from me to his sad companion and he let out a long breath, propelling himself out from the side of the car and around the trunk towards us.

"Where's Richard?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. 

I turned my head around delicately as if to expect the head of surgery to appear from out of nowhere. When I turned back to the duo in front of me, I noticed that Owen shot Derek an undisclosed look and there was a brief, noticeable exchange between them. Derek rubbed at the back of his neck, guilt slowly filling his features.

My stomach twisted. "What? What is it?"

"Uh, it's a long story." Derek cleared his throat. 

I stared at him, momentarily frozen as he adjusted the collar of his dress shirt. My eyes only shifted as Owen handed him a black tie. "He's not coming with us."

"Ah, okay," I said slowly, not quite understanding why he looked so hesitant to say anymore. Almost out of habit, I took his tie once he'd thrown it around his neck and continued to do it up. I pushed my hair behind my ear and pursed my lips, wondering why Derek avoided my eye. "Are we ready to go then?"

Owen was already dressed and I was definitely ready to go. I'd been walking around the hospital for a while and was already ready to get out of this dress and get back to appointments and paperwork. 

I supposed that I'd be expected to go to the wake party afterwards, which I didn't really like. I understood that it was important to celebrate George's life, but I didn't find crowding around a bar very celebratory. George had seemed like the sort of guy that didn't find people getting drunk in his name very charming.

"Not quite, we're waiting for someone else instead."

Derek's words confused me deeply, but at that exact moment, both of their attentions went to over my shoulder. I glanced between the two of them, Watching as Derek seemed to heave a sigh; my brow furrowed and I turned on my heel. As soon as I noticed who was approaching us, I felt like telling them I'd walk to the funeral instead.

Just my luck.

"Sorry for the delay, my consultation went a little bit over..." Mark waltzed across the parking lot in a full suit, giving us all a clean-cut smile. I made a sound that was caught at the back of my throat and (thankfully) muffled, before moving out of the way so Derek could easily run me over if he wanted to. "How's everyone holding up?"

"We're all fine, so far," Derek answered with noticeable ease as if he was making an effort. 

He tightened his tie and clapped his hands together, rubbing them back and forth. Despite being so hasty to get ready, Derek definitely cleaned up well, his hair slicked back and his shirt barely creased from the kerfuffle of moving around in his car. 

"Although," He added after a moment, "I have a feeling Beth might break out in tears, we all know what she's like with her hay fever this time of year..."

His joke caused me to shake my head slowly, barely catching myself to stop my eyes from rolling again. I thought I was the comic relief around here, but Derek seemed to coming for my job.

Owen didn't seem to appreciate the humour, he shuffled in the slightly warm sunshine and fidgeted with his collar. 

Meanwhile, Mark slid his electric eyes onto me as I crossed my arms over my chest, scuffing the bottom of my black heels against the floor. There was an unsolved tension between the two of us and just from the way I went to a length to try to not acknowledge his presence, I could tell that Mark knew. 

He knew that I knew he'd filed a complaint about me.

It had to be him. Who else would it be? 

The only other person who had an issue with me was Alex and he didn't appear to put that much effort into his offensive advances. Sure, Cristina was a little pissy with me, but that would be over soon enough. 

Mark, on the other hand, was never exhausted when it came to fucking me over.

"Okay—we should get going."

Derek was the one who spoke, but his suggestion was taken well instantly. He danced around the back of his car, briefly giving me a tight and apologetic smile and retreated to the confines of the Porsche. 

The engine purred loudly and Owen looked between me and Mark shortly; I didn't say anything just sighed under my breath as Owen made a movement to get into the front.

The psychiatrist inside of me screamed to let Owen do things he was comfortable with doing and shotgun seemed the way for him to go. It was with a reluctance that was one of the proudest accomplishments of my professional career that I crawled into the back of Porsche. As I opened the door and sat down inside, I mentally prepared myself for the challenge that was ahead:

Surviving a ten-minute drive buckled in with Mark Sloan beside me. 

It was definitely a hefty ask.

As the scent of Mark's obnoxiously strong cologne descended with the opening of the door and assaulted my nostrils, I seriously began to weigh the pros and cons of this journey.

Positives. This was a good lesson for Owen's mental journey as it showed that people could be responsive to his plans and that maybe he wasn't as hopeless at society as he first thought. This also helped me avoid exercising by walking around aimlessly, possibly turning up late over a missed bus route and getting my makeup ruined.

Negatives. I hated ice-breaker conversations. I hated Mark Sloan. I hated Seattle traffic. I would have rather been tied to the bottom of the car and been dragged along the road. Additionally, I hated Mark Sloan.

In my head, that somehow worked out as a tie, with the threat of exercise being the ultimate dark horse. Maybe I was pulling out pros from my ass, but I had to give it to myself—I was pretty good at trying to scam myself into things at a last-minute basis.

It took exactly thirty seconds from the moment Mark did up his seatbelt, Derek reversed from the parking lot and Owen turned on the radio to Spandau Ballet that I retracted all of my previous statements. Forget a tie, this was the New Zealand All-Blacks beating the shit out of their competitors in every single rugby match ever played.

I wanted to vault myself out of the window and embrace the sidewalk like an old friend.

I wanted to dig my way through the fancy flooring and escape like a prisoner from Alcatraz.

I wanted to vaporise into thin air like a superhero and materialise as a supernatural phenomena.

Most importantly, I wanted to be as far away from Mark Sloan as humanly possible.

"So, how have everyone's' days been?" Derek appeared to be nonchalant and comfortable, causing me to stare daggers into the back of his head. 

There was no immediate reply and the tail-end of his question was filled by the sound of a radio station advertisement, which was then eventually followed by the opening bars of 'Like a Prayer' by Madonna.

"I've had a busy morning." The trauma surgeon sat beside him in the front of the vehicle offered Derek a reply sheepishly and I listened carefully as he mused over his own words. "There was an accident down at the docks and a few workers came in with rather nasty burns, I suppose that's why Mark was running late..."

"Yeah." From out of the corner of my eye I saw Mark's salt-and-pepper hair bob up and down in co-ordinance to Owen's words. "I had a look at it with one of the attendings and one of your patients has a particularly nasty burn on his right ankle. We've admitted him to the burn unit."

He continued to speak, but I tuned out quickly, finding myself alien to the topics they discussed. Mark engaged Owen in a conversation that he seemed to appreciate, distracting him from the current situation. Meanwhile, I just turned my head and watched the traffic lazily go by alongside colourless buildings and busy sidewalks.

As often it did when I was thoughtful and surrounded by surgery, my thoughts swung to the What If part of my imagination. 

With their conversation fading into the background, I thought about my job and Katherine and how for once in my life, I actually could feel a sense of stability. Indonesia had been a temporary placement, before that I'd only bounced about on research projects and education placements. Seattle was something that I didn't have to rush out of. It was stable.

"How about you, Beth?"

Derek interjected the surgical talk causing me to jolt slightly. I looked around to see Derek's luminous eyes watching me in the mirror. I cocked my head to the side and adjusted my hair, momentarily disorientated. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mark turn his head away from me.

"I, uh, did a EEG earlier today." I cleared my throat. "I've got a insomniac patient who has been unable to sleep for nearly a year now, she's pretty desperate at this point to get her hands on anything that might stop this disorder."

"Yeah, if you want a neurosurgery consult, I'd be happy to help you personally," Derek's attention flickered between me in the mirror and the road in front of him as he gave me a soft smile. "Or, I'd be happy to recommend a neurologist."

"I think I'll be okay," I said softly, "I've got a feeling that it might have something to do with her melatonin levels, her sleep-wake cycle is completely out of whack. I might have to do a lot of looking into her environmental surroundings-"

"I had a patient back in New York that had advanced obstructive sleep apnea." Mark seemed to ricochet into the conversation, and I looked over at him, momentarily lost for words. My eyebrows rose up my forehead and Derek looked sharply over at him in the mirror. "They were given to me after having a Psych consultation about insomnia and sleep difficulties. Fast forwards a week after being given to me and I'm in an eight-hour surgery, dissecting the soft tissue off this guys throat."

There was a beat, a momentary silence in which Owen and Derek exchanged a look. I just turned my gaze back to the front windscreen, being reminded why exactly I didn't want to be in this car.

Mark always had odd ways of expressing his irritation, especially towards me.

I knew that he was still angry about my little snipe at him outside of the hospital a few days ago, but I knew if he'd learnt anything from our strenuous relationship, it was how to hold a grudge. I just shook my head softly to myself, touching gazes with Derek's reflection briefly and turning my gaze back out the window.

"Huh, that's fascinating," I stated with faux astonishment in my voice. 

In my head, I subconsciously continued my sentence:

Fascinating how you can't shut the fuck up for a second.

As soon as the conversation veered to an end, shortly followed by Owen awkwardly turning up the volume of the radio- our thwarted silence was suddenly filled with 'Eclipse of The Heart' by Bonnie Tyler- and Mark shortly turned his gaze out of the window, I found myself thinking back to my talk with Katherine.

I let out a long breath; I didn't want to be such a bitter person. I'd been happy and go-lucky once. I'd been a stretch, but I'd managed it. Then I'd left Connecticut with a place at Colombia and I'd set off for New York. 

I'd spent the first month in Addison's apartment, with her clearing her 4 years at medical school as if was as easy as tying her shoelaces. By the time I'd reached her, she was already being obscenely brilliant in a way that only Addie could be, working hard on fulfilling her seven years until she could properly make it as a surgeon. By the time I'd finished medical school and gotten into my internship, Addison was already an enigma that the medical community was adorning with love and praise. And, she was still there.

And where was I? I leant my head against the curved glass, exhaling rather heavily through my nostrils once again. I listened to Owen as he hummed along to the radio and was overly sensitive to the dark figure in the corner of my eye.

Not quite where I'd ever envisioned myself, that was for sure.

***

George's funeral was sweet.

That's a lie. It was terrible. But all funerals fell under the umbrella term for me.

Calum's mother's funeral had been terrible- Calum had tried not to cry the whole time and had made me get a cab home in the middle of the night because he wanted to be alone- and George's was barely better. I didn't like the whole idea of it all—there was something about standing there and staring at a coffin that was overly morbid.

A few times, during the service, numerous people caught my eye. I was clearly uncomfortable the whole time, despite how hard I tried to conceal it. 

I was stood towards the middle of a group of people that I vaguely recognised as hospital staff; directly in front of me, Owen stood beside a profusely sobbing woman, who I took the liberty of assuming was George's mother, and two broad-shouldered males who inclined their heads the whole time. I stared at the back of Owens's head almost robotically, only looking away when I felt eyes burn into me.

On the first occurrence, I looked over to exchange a silent word with Derek; my ex-brother-in-law had his wife in his arms, Meredith leaning heavily against his chest as she stared sadly down at the coffin just before Owen. 

He parted his lips softly, and I just crumpled my brow, a message passing between the two of us. Wordlessly, Derek knew exactly what I was saying, and looked away, pressing a kiss to the crown of Meredith's head as she buried her face into the jacket of his suit.

The second time, I caught the attention of a sombre, wheel-chair bound Izzie as she gently leaned forwards, her husband towering behind her. She was folded in on herself, like a small child curled in a foetal position, her body shaking very slightly as Alex carefully laid a hand on her shoulder. 

Softly, Izzie looked up at him, her eyes glassy, and gave him a despaired smile. As she looked away, her eyes ricocheted onto mine and we, too, had a brief exchange.

She looked better than she had the last time I'd seen her; it was good to see that something good had come out of the hellish few days.

It was the third and final time that really caught me.

It was when the ceremony had finished and Izzie, Meredith, Cristina and Alex had all dissipated into the wind. People lingered, their eyes heavy on George's newly placed grave and sobs littering the air as people scuffed their feet on the damp grass of the cemetery. 

I, too, strayed. I clasped my hands in front of me and swallowed hard, my throat stiff and dry as I sloppily turned on my heel—only to come face to face with the last person I'd expected to face.

It was Miranda Bailey's gaze that was the harshest.

She seemed to be able to blaze through me, as if I was just a piece of cellophane or one of the thousands of panes of glass that worked as Seattle Grace's outer shell. Her red-rimmed, slightly distorted dark eyes was enough for what moisture I had left in my mouth to evaporate and exhale through my nose in a short and sharp manner. 

Like me, she was dressed for a mourning affair, her stout figure dressed in black and her hair neatly combed.

"Dr. Montgomery..."

There was such hesitation in her voice that I almost blanched right there. She seemed a little uneven, uneasy around the edges that I almost had a struggle to comprehend what she was saying. She was quiet and soft, as if the wind that tousled our hair was enough to blow it away in one swoop. She paused, teetering on the short heels she'd done. 

But then Bailey collected herself.

"I just wanted to speak to you about..." She trailed off, clear discomfort in her eyes. I kept my face impassive and waited patiently to hear her out. "About O'Malley- I-I don't think I ever got to...."

I watched as Bailey thought long and hard about what she was saying. Her lips parted and then closed, repeating in an almost dizzying circle until she let out a aggravated sigh.

"I am not the sort of person who takes kindly to being proved wrong." She started off stronger this time, her voice gaining memento. It was easy to say that any trepidation I'd held quickly flickered to momentary awe. "I don't say sorry often, but I think that I should now..."

Beat.

"Sorry." The words held a weight to them almost like no other words I'd heard since touching down in Seattle all those weeks ago. I let humility shatter into my eyes and looked down at the woman softly. "I misjudged you-"

"Dr. Bailey, I-"

"No, I need to speak." 

My attempt to interrupt was clearly unappreciated and her professional career took its toll; Bailey held up a hand as if she was talking to one of her interns and she seemed to notice instantly. Her posture softened and the arm fell, slack, to her side. 

"I misjudged your intentions for George O'Malley," She said, "I accused you of wanting to see him go to his death, but I understand now that that was the last thing you wanted him to do. You wanted him to follow his dreams."

"I was his friend for a short period of time." I said, slowly, pushing a stray hair behind my ear. "He was an excellent man and I was extremely fortunate to know him. He wanted to make a difference, Dr. Bailey, he really did."

Bailey seemed to pause for a second, her eyes assessing my face. I hoped that it held a form of professional compassion. The older surgeon took another breath as if it was the only thing that was allowing her to stand and gave me a slightly weathered smile.

"Please, call me Miranda."

I quirked an eyebrow, my lips slowly widening into a returning expression.

"In that case, you're welcome to call me Beth, or Elizabeth, just not Bethany."

A slightly frazzled laugh fell through our lips. She nodded at me, rather stiffly as she adjusted the blazer she had over her dress, the movement jaunty and uncomfortable. She inhaled sharply through her nose, clearing it, and turned away, our conversation over. 

I watched her go, watched the short surgeon melt away into the departing crowds, my heart welling with a slight warmth as I realised that I maybe had just found a resolution to a conflict that had been running me raw a little bit.

It was only when Miranda Bailey was out of sight that I noticed the wandering eyes of Mark Sloan.

But he didn't seem to look through me. He'd always just looked straight through me, straight at my raw feelings. And he always would.

I gave him a slightly offish look, then turned on my heel and walked in the opposite direction.