𝙓𝙓𝙑𝙄.
PRAY FOR THE WICKED

──────

IT WAS MONDAY morning and I was doing something I never quite thought I would do again: jogging.

I decided to do something highly out of character to start off the week; I stuffed in my headphones, blasting some fitness music and gave myself a long and painful pep talk.

Over the weekend, I'd tried to do exciting things, I'd painted my toenails (after spending an hour or so fishing through my toiletries to find the same varnish I'd worn regularly back in New York), showered with fancy scented candles and even gone through the painstaking process of finding a pair of running shoes at a sports store at the end of my street.

So on Monday morning, I jogged around the block, finding it hard to even make it across the road and down past the hospital, getting out of breath by the time I'd left my apartment building behind me. It was a short job, but I'd persevered.

I'd been determined to try and do something healthy, as let's face it, my body was bound to give up with all of the abuse I'd inflicted on it. So, even if that meant leaning against a lamp post and trying everything to hide my long, death-rattle like breaths as I attempted to steady my heart-beat, then so be it.

When I returned home, I showered, shrugged on some heels and poured myself some coffee. I'd finally taken time to unpack some of my lost trinkets and things from home-- a few bottles of perfume that I hadn't touched in a decade loomed on my dresser and I paused.

One of the scents had been something I'd discovered in some Macy's store on Christmas Eve in Manhattan, when I'd been last-minute chasing a gift list for the holidays. I'd initially bought it for Addison, but then I'd tried the tester and decided that the classy floral scent was something that I really needed to perk up my walk.

The other one, I couldn't remember quite where I'd picked it up, but it was my favourite one, I remembered that.

It reminded me of happy memories, so I decided to cheer myself up.

A sudden spritz and I was out of the door, walking pointedly over the road and towards the hospital, hair tousling in the wind from a surprisingly nice day. Seattle traffic was light this time in the morning, it was early but not too early to stop the sun from peeking through the light trails of wispy clouds in the sky.

I liked the sound of the city in the morning, the hum of traffic, the drawl of ambulance sirens in the distance as the hospital trauma department ran full-steam ahead, all alongside the click of my heels as I powered my way through the plaza and down, towards the reception.

But just outside of the doors, I halted, my eyes drawing up to the sign on the wall, the sign that had once proclaimed "Seattle Grace Hospital." I clutched my coffee tightly as someone ambled up beside me, following my gaze-- Cristina, who also nursed a cup of coffee glanced over at me with a sour expression.

She didn't look too happy with what she saw.

A maintenance team were in mid-progression of altering the logo on the side of the Hospital. The words of "Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital" were slowly coming together, causing an uncomfortable feeling to twist in my stomach.

I briefly exchanged a look with Cristina and the surgeon frowned in a disgusted manner.

"Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse," She drawled, mostly to herself but I couldn't help but agree. I'd quite liked the name Seattle Grace Hospital, it had a nice tone to it. This, on the other hand, didn't. "It's like some sort of infection-- one becomes two, two becomes four, four becomes eight... Next thing you know, you're dying of consumption."

I couldn't help but be briefly amused by the analogy. "It's an invasion... full on H.G Wells style."

"It's a hostile takeover..." Cristina rumbled, rolling her eyes as she brought her coffee to her lips. "Now, we just gotta figure out what the hell we've got to do to get them the hell out of here."

I didn't reply straight away, just pressed my lips tightly together, noticing something that I hadn't seen before.

A few steps before us, the main reception of the hospital was swamped with unfamiliar people, all dressed in bright orange scrubs- my nose wrinkled, that couldn't be good.

Cristina noticed not long after I did, as she scoffed to herself, shaking her head. Suddenly, I was cut off by a violent nudge that almost sent me flying.

I wobbled dangerously on my heels as someone shoved in between the small space between my myself and Cristina, my grasp tightening on my coffee as it threatened to tumble out of my fingers.

A loud sound of indignation erupted through Cristina's lips and I looked up just in time for her to yell at an unfamiliar man as he hurried into the hospital. My eyes flickered from Cristina to his scrubs. Orange.

For fuck's sake-

"It's an invasion," Cristina growled to herself darkly, repeating my words from a few moments ago. "But it's just- it's stupid, immature- if I lose my job over this someone is going to have hell to pay..."

She began to stalk towards the hospital and I fell in line behind her, her words echoing around my head. She was in a dark mood, with anger crackling on her skin like the electrical storms we'd occasionally get in Connecticut when the summers were too hot.

I discarded my coffee just inside the door and didn't say anything as we stepped into the elevator, then eventually (after a pregnant silence filled with our distracting thoughts) stepped out into a packed surgical reception. Her face twisted at the sight of it, noting that the whole space was swamped by the Mercy West employees, all wearing their orange scrubs like some sort of armour. I shifted uncomfortably, feeling my skin crawl with the reality of it all.

"So, you're on the surgical service today?" Cristina didn't sound interested in the topic at all, but she attempted conversation anyway.

We turned and made our way towards the staircase. A breath of relief came out of my lips when I recognised Lexie, Alex and Izzie stood at the top of the reception, overlooking the writhing crowds beneath them. It wasn't until we were stood beside them that I answered.

"Yeah, the head of Psych wants someone in the gladiator ring to get familiar with the lions."

I glanced over towards Izzie and Alex, noticing how Izzie held Alex's hand tightly as if she was frightened to let go.

There was distinctive storminess about her, just like with Cristina, her jaw was clenched and her eyes were vaguely glassy and red, as if she'd been crying. Meanwhile, Alex just glared down below him, face impassive but eyes swirling dangerously.

"They're locusts..." To my left, Lexie just looked sad, her eyebrows bunching together as her bottom lip drooped like a wilted flower. "Comfortable locus, feeding on our surgeries."

"It's rude," Izzie interjected, her voice noticeably husky as she raised her head, wiping her eyes with her back of her palm. The four of us watched her closely as she shook her head, attempting to find a way to express her disgust and dissatisfaction. "There should be at least a couple of days where they act like guests before they put their feet up on the coffee table." An incredulous scoff fell through her lips. "And what's with the orange scrubs?"

"What, ours aren't good enough for 'em?" I asked, scrunching my nose up at the sight of them.

"We ran out- they're on backorder." Lexie's voice was small, dwarfed by the loud crescendo the newcomers left in the air. Another thing to dislike- they were loud, chaotic and had a presence to them, one that was egocentric and left a bad taste in my mouth... oh, if Mable was to see this, I'd be stuck on the surgical service for the rest of my life. "Randall from the supply company says there'll be here in a week. Meredith filled me in- Apparently, that's what you learn when you lie around all day."

Ah yes, Meredith.

She was currently in recovery from a liver donation, where she'd given her dying, estranged, alcoholic father his means to live. I'd heard all about it as she tortured herself over the crucial decision. She'd come into my office like a whirlwind, sat herself down and demanded my full attention.

Then, once she'd presented an offering of a sub from my favourite sandwich shop as a means of payment for my time, she'd talked me through her rocky relationship with Thatcher Grey. Everything from her only remembering him as the man who would pour her cereal as a little girl, to the fact that Lexie had practically gotten on her knees to beg for Meredith to save his life. She'd been pushed into a corner by her little half-sister and had proposed one of the darkest questions I'd heard in my sessions to date:

"Why bother ordering new ones?" Izzie's voice was heated, fired up by the same energy that silently licked at Cristina Yang's skin. She gestured to her own uniform, her face twisting. "We could just give these to our replacements."

"We're not gonna be replaced by anybody." Speaking up for the first time since our arrival, Alex dismissed Izzie's words quickly, raising his hand and shaking it in the direction of his wife.

The blonde didn't seem convinced.

"If I have to become a coroner..."

"No one is becoming a coroner," I interjected, slightly humoured by Izzie's statement. Instead of letting Izzie launch into another impassioned rant, I followed her attention to Cristina who held the maniacal expression of a supervillain plotting disaster in an old fashioned superhero blockbuster. "Dr Yang, tell them."

Cristina looked up at me, raising a single eyebrow. "Tell them what?"

I jerked my head around silently as if to gesture back to the impassioned moment she'd had while almost being bowled over by an invading surgical resident.

"They're here." Izzie started solemnly, "It's over."

"Hey!" All humour drained out of my face. I'd wanted Cristina to serve the motivating speech, something in lieu of what she'd previously said to me, but it appeared that I was forced into the speaker's shoes. "We are not some stupid hosts. They can't invade us. They can't attach themselves to our faces and then while we're eating spaghetti, explode out of our chests and skitter across the floor. This is our ship."

I thought about the people we'd lost already in this merger and thought about the people that we would lose in the future.

They deserved better than for all of the Seattle Grace staff to just spontaneously give up and get picked off like sitting ducks in a surgical pond. I refused to be left alone in this department with a handful of Mercy West staff that had their heads so far up their own arses that they could give full weather forecasts for their digestive systems.

"This is our ship," I repeated heatedly, slamming my palm down onto the railing. "And you know what if it's having to deliver some cheesy-fucking-ass speech to a bunch of knuckleheads or if it's seeing my dead dad on an intergalactic beach that makes you guys realise that I'll do it. But I want to make something extremely clear-- I do not Jodie Foster this sort of behaviour and I am not okay to go."

There was a brief pause as everyone digested my words.

"Excuse me," Lexie was the first one to speak, her face betraying a look of amusement mixed with bewilderment. "Did you just quote a Sigourney Weaver movie and... a Jodie Foster movie?"

A slightly breathless laugh fell through my lips as I realised that was all she had really picked up on.

"Shut up." She bristled slightly as I shook my head side-to-side, rolling my eyes. "I haven't been able to properly set up my cable and I'm stuck on a Sci-fi channel that seems to play Contact and Alien on repeat... But c'mon you guys--"

I broke off, looking around at the surgeons. I wasn't even sure whether I was doing a good job at motivating but I tried my damned hardest. Charlie's oncoming return had really lit a fire under my ass to try and put my life together and have something to show him for my time in Seattle. I wasn't giving up, even if it had practically nothing to do with me.

"I know I've only been for a while," I sighed, "but I know this much about Seattle Grace staff- We own this hospital and we will hold this hospital with our last gasping breath."

"I really don't want to be a coroner," Izzie muttered to herself dimly, causing me to sigh. "I don't like dead people."

"Go out there and go get surgeries before they take them."

I couldn't quite believe how slow and sluggish they were being. If I was the one who faced my surgical career going down the drain, I would have already been elbow deep in trauma cases, neck-deep in the rat race for my position.

My words seemed to fall on deaf ears so I let out a loud, exaggerated and exasperated breath. "Go! And I'm sure Meredith will want a full report by the end of the day!"

Suddenly, they scattered like bowling pins at the bottom of an alley.

Lexie dove down the stairs, closely followed by Izzie and Alex, while Cristina hightailed it in the direction of the staircase. But either way, I was left alone for a short amount of time-- exactly until the Hospital's resident Tweedledum and Tweedledee appeared beside me, filling the space that Cristina, Izzie, Alex and Lexie had left.

"A rather impassioned speech, huh?"

When I turned to face him, Derek Shepherd's eyes glittered brightly in the crystalline lights of the reception area. His lips were in a small smile which made me think that his issue with the Chief of Surgery on the merger may have resulted in some sort of resolution.

I glanced over at Mark, who was on my opposite side, gazing down at the masses with a curious grimace, before I let my shoulders sag and a momentary sadness dwindles in my chest.

My heart was aching as I thought about how the five of them had been so hopeless. It had resurfaced the feelings I'd left behind in New York over my own surgical career; feelings that I'd have loved more than anything to keep buried in the small, dark abyss just underneath my heart.

"I'm just... It all reminds me of New York..." I trailed off hopelessly, my lips curving downwards as I embraced the weight that crushed my chest. "They seem reluctant to fight for their jobs.. Meanwhile, I know that if I could have fought harder for my internship, for my residency and for my career... I would have gone out with all guns blazing, y'know? But, I wasn't able to and that sucked... I don't want them to feel like I did, because God, that fucking stung like a bitch."

To my right, I couldn't help but notice Mark growing noticeably uncomfortable over the topic of my surgical career and it's untimely end. Derek just avoided my eye completely.

"But, I have brighter things to concentrate on other than my prospects as a motivational speaker..."

Derek's lips quirked. "Is that so... like what?"

I hesitated the words on the tip of my tongue.

Again, I found myself glancing at Mark, watching as he turned his back on the surgical staff and instead devoted his full attention to the two of us. His eyes rested heavily on me as I let out a slightly incredulous laugh, finding it awfully hilarious the situation that I was in. Our conversation was cut short by the scream of a pager and drew it out from his lab coat, his brow folding as he read the message.

I bit down onto my lip, watching as he stuffed it away, his body language indicating that he had somewhere urgent to be.

"I'm sorry Beth, there's an incoming trauma-"

"You don't need to explain," I teased, causing Derek to roll his eyes at me. "Possibly the shortest conversation I've ever had but...."

In a brotherly way, a movement of affection that I hadn't had since Archer had left me in the dust for Los Angeles, Derek pressed his lips to my forehead (the portion that wasn't still glued and healing) and moved to tear off down the staircase and towards the pit. As he went, he turned to Mark.

"Mark, you-?"

"I'll catch up."

Mark's voice was rather soft, slow, and it caused my chest to constrict uncomfortably, almost painfully. I saw Derek shoot a final look between the two of us, his eyes wary before I urged him to go, mouthing 'I'll be fine'.

He nodded quickly, then wasted no time disappearing down into a rapid of Mercy West surgeons that were fighting to be the first to the ER.

That left me, wringing my hands as Mark crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to the side.

In my head, I was screaming, screaming at him.

Pleading with him in a rather violent way to not ask
who Charlie was, mostly because I didn't want to discuss my romantic life with my ex. We weren't at that point in whatever fucked up friendship it was that we had- and I severely doubted we would ever get to that point, again, at least. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, waiting for him to speak, knowing that we had an insufferable, heavy silence between us that only seemed to grow in the absence of the loud Mercy West staff.

However, Mark didn't speak first- no, instead, he strolled towards me, long sweeping steps and stood in front of me like some sort of tall, marble figure.

I frowned at him, opening my mouth to speak, but was cut off by his large, nimble fingers as he caught my chin, tilting my head up towards him.

"Mark what the-"

For a split second, I thought he was about to kiss me.

His face loomed over mine and I felt myself falling back in time, to a moment when I'd wanted nothing more than to have his hands all over my body, to have his those lips sweeping my skin.

I suddenly felt light-headed; maybe it was the proximity between us or the fact that his touch still made my skin grow static and my knees wobble. I I felt vulnerable, weak and completely hopeless with his lips just seconds from mine.

Mark Sloan did not kiss me, instead, he looked at my forehead with great concentration, oblivious to the way I'd stalled for a moment and re-lived every second of our disastrous past.

He'd drawn my head upwards to examine the healing of my previous week's hardships in lights overhead, continuing to tilt my head in various angles, inspecting the work of a doctor who'd been sacked in the first round of the Seattle Grace mergers.

My voice was more breathless than I would have liked when I squinted up at him, reproach swiftly filling me, "Haven't you heard of something called personal space?"

Mark didn't respond to me right away, instead seemed to frown to himself deeply. When he finally released my chin, I made a great deal of backing away from him, taking multiple steps away until my back almost made contact with the railing.

The plastic surgeon looked as though he was deeply troubled but didn't react when I glowered at him pointedly, urging him for a response.

"Well?"

"Lexie told me about your accident with the schizophrenic patient," He sounded too business professional than what I was used to. He appeared disattached, impersonal and I scoffed slightly at it. "She said that you were assaulted with a vase?"

I heaved a sigh. Of course, Lexie would unknowingly rat me out. "Yeah, I was K'O'd in a patient room and woke up being hauled off the floor by a nurse and covered in my own blood from a head lac."

"I checked your record.. You had an intern close it?"

"Yeah," I stated. He sounded rather miffed with the fact that Eli had paged a surgical intern to attend to me. "That's their job..." I shook my head, running a hand through my hair. "You know, I'm uncomfortable with you snooping around my medical files."

It was just further justifying my decision to run away to Canada all of those years ago. I hadn't needed him or Addison poking through my medical history.

"The incision is going to leave a scar." He was almost robotic, reeling off the statement like some sort of know-it-all Siri clone. "Dr Guzman was inexperienced in Plastics and spent the whole span of her career here shadowing Dr Torres. Her glueing technique is inaccurate and it's going to ruin your forehead, it might not be too noticeable, but it's still going to be there."

"You're telling me about her being experienced..." I commented wryly, not at all bothered by the fact that god forbid I'd have a blemish on my face. I was sure Charlie wouldn't particularly mind. "I had to tell her to put down the bloody gut sutures and find some Cyanoacrylate."

"And you still let her glue you?"

Mark's jackass professional robot moment dropped away, revealing an incredulous man. His eyebrow was piqued in a way that told me his question was rhetorical and as a means to stir the conversation into a shit-storm. I could tell, at once, that he was not happy with me.

"Are you stupid?"

"Huh," my response was dry. "Now you mention it..."

"You shouldn't have let her anywhere near you."

It was as if he was scolding a child, an inexperienced, naive and dependent child and I loathed it deeply.

"Well, I seem to have a track record of ignoring people's warnings and getting myself screwed over, don't I?"

My malicious comment was heavily ignored by him and instead, he just shook his head firmly, as if he couldn't believe my audacity.

"You should have paged me."

"Oh, right..." I narrowed my eyes at him. "So this is an ego thing?"

Again, I was ignored.

"She should have done a buried subcuticular layer of sutures to relieve the tension on the wound to prevent scarring."

His tone was almost thoughtful and again, he appeared distracted. His eyes travelled over my face, stopping at all of the sites of which his plastics knowledge helped to hold me together.

"I would have brought the stitches down slower, relieved the tension and taken them out after a three day period-"

"Wow."

"You should have paged me," Mark repeated firmly, not quite appreciating my sarcastic interruption. His eyes grew stormy as I rolled my eyes at him, tempted to just walk away. I had better things to waste my time on, including watching a bunch of new surgeons go at each other's throats for a single trauma case. "I've been responsible for keeping you face intact and as pristine as possible... and you just threw it all away."

My mouth fell open into a gape and an incredulous laugh of disbelief fell through a suddenly tensed jaw. "Wow, you're really a piece of work, aren't you?"

"It's going to scar, Beth."

"I don't give a fuck... and you know what..." I had a bitter smile plastered across my face as I stalked towards him, restraining myself from poking him in the chest like a pissed off Sim. "You, kind sir, can shove your stupid sutures up your ass and choke on them. It'll distract you from your self-entitlement and obnoxious need to make everything about you."

Mark fell silent, his face falling stoic in a heartbeat. I stepped away from him, noticing how I'd drawn close and dangerously near to him; the expression on his face was strewed, something that I couldn't quite read.

It reminded me of our lengthy, gruelling arguments back when we'd be able to forgive each other so easily. Mark would always finish with a very distant look to him, as if he was attempting to separate himself from the situation; although, I couldn't quite blame him when I was in a situation that I saw as undesirable I wasn't exactly silent. I was an incredibly defensive person and he'd definitely learnt that the hard way.

I wasn't shy about putting him in his place if I needed to and I was sure that I'd made that abundantly clear.

But that didn't mean that I didn't feel bad for it.

"I'm sorry, I'm being an asshole."

It wasn't me who apologised. Mark's eyes met my taken aback expression as I raised my eyebrow, distinctively caught off-guard.

For a moment, I felt as though I was in some sort of different universe, a universe in which pigs flew and Mark Sloan apologised for his shitty comments.

The silence was longer than I'd intended as I fought to comprehend what had quite happened. I opened my mouth to speak, but closed it abruptly afterwards, not finding words to put in a sentence. I blinked rapidly, my eyes wide and my eyebrows so high up my forehead that I was scared they'd permanently become part of my hairline.

Mentally, I was tearing through my subconscious, trying to track down some sort of scenario player guide that would help me deal with this spontaneous moment; but funnily enough, the file "Mark_Sloan_Apology.mp4" could not be found.

"Right, okay..." I mumbled, shooting Mark and odd look.

It wasn't the sort of Mark behaviour that I knew and we both knew that it had unhinged me. I was awfully uncomfortable as I gave him a final weird glance, attempting to walk past him and towards the same stairs that Cristina had beelined to.

The plastic surgeon just scoffed, as if my response wasn't exactly what he'd anticipated. Maybe he'd expected an apology in return, but that wasn't how it worked.

As I side-stepped him completely and left, Mark seemed to turn and watch me leave, causing the hair on the back of my neck to bristle.

"Are you wearing perfume?" He called out, just as I reached the door.

Slowly, my head revolved to stare at him, a bewildered scowl resting on my lips as I continued to find him extremely creepy.

"What?"

"The perfume... it's the one from New York, right?" I kissed my teeth with my tongue, shrugging. I guessed it was. I didn't really own perfumes before I'd come to New York. I'd just used the standard stick of deodorant and swiped Addie's unsurprisingly extensive collection of scents if need be. Mark paused for a moment as if he was momentarily extremely sad. "It's a good one, you should wear it more."

I didn't reply to him; instead, I gave him major side-eye and stepped away, shoving the door open with my shoulder.

He didn't follow me or even attempt to talk to me for the rest of the day. It was only when I clambered down into the ER and approached the nurses' station that I realised where I'd gotten this perfume and why Mark liked it so much.

"Oh for god's sake..." I muttered to myself as the nurse handed me some cases that I could shadow.

She didn't hear me, turning away and answering an incoming trauma on the ER phone. I glanced over at her scrubs, recognising the same vibrant orange that was already beginning to grind my temper.

"Mark Sloan, you sly son of a bitch..."

Of course, he'd liked it. He'd bought it for me.

***

On Tuesday, I found myself jogging again.

I zig-zagged across the road, pausing at a set of red lights as the traffic continued to pour through the veins of the city. I was slightly out of breath, with my ponytail swinging madly and my heart hammering in my chest.

Stretching my abdomen and rolling my shoulders, I took out my ear-bud for a moment, the sound of Billy Joel fading into a single ear. All the while, I squeezed my eyes shut, asking myself once again why I was doing something that I hadn't subjected myself to since Boston.

Running wasn't great, but it was helping me focus.

It was one of those stupid things that they said in movies or in little chick-lit books. Running clears my head, it cures me of my negative thoughts, it rejuvenates my aura-- or whatever the fuck Sarah Jessica Parker or Michelle Monaghan would say.

Really, all running did for me was help me direct my frustration in the proper direction; away from the stupid incoming Mercy West staff members, away from my personal life and right onto the action of exercising in such a mediocre way.

It was therapeutic and I almost always ended up falling over at some point.

I returned, showering and ditched the perfume this time. My legs were sore but I couldn't help but slip on my heels at the door (they may have hurt like a bitch but god I felt like hot shit in them).

I punched the button in the elevator, headed down towards the hospital plaza like I did everyday. On my way out of the lobby of the apartment building, my phone vibrated against my torso. I paused at the same crossing as I had approached earlier, checking my messages.

I smiled warmly, typing back a quick reply and hurrying across the road towards work. I was excited for Charlie to get here, I missed him. Receiving that phone call had really made my heart ache.

As uncomfortable as I was thinking that I'd be living alongside Charlie in Seattle and that we'd have some sort of normalcy in our relationship, I was looking forward to seeing him again.

It was all I'd been thinking about for the past few days. He'd asked to stay with me and I'd said a rather flustered yes. He was excited and so was I.

Between his messages and our late-night phone calls, we'd struck up a good conversation.

He was impassioned by the thought of flying again, and was excited to continue what he'd joined Doctors Beyond Borders for; he'd wanted to travel to places he'd never go to otherwise and help people that were in some of the toughest moments of their lives. Admittedly, his enthusiasm was adorable, it was reminiscent of a little kid who'd just found out they were going to the theme park they'd been rambling on and on about for forever.

"Anyone would think that you didn't have anywhere to be."

I'd been caught walking along the plaza, completely engrossed in my text conversation, by a smug-looking Eli. The nurse, whose ego (somehow) had never been so inflated after the good (for him) turnout of the merger, was stood just outside of the hospital doors.

I rolled my eyes at his chasisting tone and shoved my phone into my pocket, my eyes instantly moving to his outstretched hand; he was holding out a coffee from the hospital cafeteria for me and I figured that it was worth the snide tone.

"I don't want to go in there," I admitted, taking the coffee and hugging it close to my chest.

The look on Eli's face spoke thousands of words- he glanced over at me as we took our places staring over at the hospital, just as Cristina and I had done the day before.

I could tell that even he, the guy who had approached this whole situation with such confidence, looked as though he was close to demanding a sick day.

"One of the Mercy West newbies told me to shove it, five minutes into my shift." Eli seemed to sigh lightly as if it was a mild inconvenience to his day.

"I had a resident slam the door in my face." My head shook from side to side as I thought about the back of the small, red-haired bitch that had taken one look at my psychiatrist badge and completely dismissed me.

She'd had one of those looks on her face; one that told me instantly that she thought little of me.

The glance that Eli shot me, paired with a snort, heavily implied that we were both in the same situation. These newcomers didn't think shit of us.

"So, they're just like the rest of the egotistic surgeons that have their heads so far up their own arses that they could give a full weather forecast for their small intestine..." Eli looked rather sceptical as I drew out a pregnant pause, turning to him and tilting my head to the side. "But does that mean that it's going to suck that badly?"

Eli shut me down instantly. "Optimism doesn't suit you, leave that to Stevens."

I rolled my eyes at him, watching as the corner of his mouth twitched. He was right. I was attempting to fit into a little cookie cutter that Izzie had left for the moment being- she was currently a messy whirlwind, fighting people over cubby holes and stalking about the hospital corridors with a vengeance.

Alex had been up in arms, torn between fighting people himself and trying to reign in his dejected and furious wife. So that left an absence, one that I gave up with a long breath, my shoulders falling.

"If one more of these residents trying to rile me up, forget the Hippocratic oath I'm inflicting major damage." I huffed, shooting daggers at some approaching residents that I didn't recognise.

They walked past the two of us, oblivious to the dirty looks that were coming off of us. The nurse beside me chuckled in a rather dark fashion, nodding in approval.

"Atta' girl."

One of the residents that passed happened to be the girl from yesterday; she was smaller than the others but seemed to think of herself as some bigshot. Her chin was tilted upwards and her small beady eyes were set into one of the most deadset resting bitch faces I'd ever seen.

Her hair, which was a rusty red or brown, was in a pixie cut that reminded me rather miserably of the stupid little fairies and imps from some sort of fantasy children's books. She barely even glanced over to Eli and I as she passed (all while accompanied by a tall, square-shouldered guy with dark hair who seemed to be eating up every word she spoke). Wordlessly, Eli conversed with me through his gaze.

It clicked.

"Bitchzilla."

"Bitchzilla." He confirmed.

A disbelieving laugh fell through my lips and shook my head from side to side, channelling the bitterness of morning coffee into a second laugh that betrayed a grand scheme of skullduggery and bitching.

"Remember, Eli," I drawled. "Do no harm... but take no shit."

He appeared satisfied with my words and resorted back to drinking his coffee with dark amusement playing through his eyes. The two of us stood in silence, watching the two residents talk between them, free of the sickly bright scrubs that they'd been given.

I couldn't understand what it was that royally pissed me off about all of these people, I couldn't quite pin it down. Maybe it was the fact that from the few interactions I'd had with them, they'd been nothing but rude and abrasive. Or maybe it was the fact that the hospital suddenly reminded me of high school, with people being two-faced and abrasive.

When the two residents finally left and Eli had finished his coffee, we walked into the hospital grimacing as we realised that we'd be stuck in the elevator next door to the Mercy West defectors.

They glanced over at us as we stood, shoulder-to-shoulder towards the front of the elevator, our eyes fixed stiffly on the metal doors in front of us. The elevator was silent, all aside from the sound of my phone buzzing with a text message-- I picked it out of my pocket as the ringtone screamed at me rather angrily.

Eli snorted at me, shaking his head as I briefly read Charlie's message.

"Excuse me."

The female resident, the same one who had already gotten onto both of our hit lists, piped up behind us. Eli was the first one to look back and he rolled his eyes, gently indicating that the girl was trying to talk to me.

He turned away from her and we shared a look; my lip curled slightly and I faced Bitchzilla with a sugary sweet smile.

"Yes?"

I'd never been particularly religious. I'd grown up with grandparents who were religious to the point where it'd effectively thrown me off of going to church completely.

I'd never quite given so much thought about the entities of angels, demons and such-- but looking this woman dead in the eye, I suddenly was rather partial to the thought of the devil actually existing. I was sure that I could see it, blazing at the bottom of her irises.

"Could you silence your phone?"

Her tone was so innocent but subtly backhanded that I felt the urge to look over at Eli. He bit into the inside of his cheek, appearing to be restraining himself from a laugh. A muscle jumped in my jaw as I turned back to watch as her eyes danced darkly.

Oh, she wasn't finished.

"It's pretty loud and unprofessional."

Beth from Connecticut would have apologised profusely and bitched about it later.

Beth from New York would have probably been so drunk she would have thrown a fist.

But this was Beth from Indonesia, Beth from her little cute apartment in Seattle-- this was Beth with a job and rent to pay and a couple of years of anger management therapy and rehab under her belt.

"Sure." I gave her a long, almost condescending and patronising smile that went toe-to-toe with her forced grin. "What's your name?"

My eyes were sharp, cutting and I didn't back down from her dark gaze. I had to give it to the girl, she wouldn't back down either.

I pointedly silenced my phone, smiling with all teeth at her when she rather loudly thanked me with a little too much attitude for my liking.

The resident looked at me with her dark little eyes. "Dr Reed Adamson, I'm a surgical resident."

"Adamson," I repeated, before turning around, shooting a look over at Eli, who was already writing her name on the back of his hand, "And how do you spell that?"

***

But Eli wasn't the only person who was having issues with the newcomers.

The first thing I came across on the Psychiatry floor was an angry Mable. She was standing just outside the breakroom, her arms folded tightly over her chest and her forehead scrunched up into a scowl. In one hand, she was nursing one of her herbal teas and in the other, she clutched her pager. I met her eye, chuckling to myself as I realised that like me, she was stuck playing sidekick to the surgical residents.

I'd barely even been there for five seconds before she let out a long hiss: "Katherine's new hire is a dick."

Dr Wyatt had hinted that we'd be taking on some new staff over the last few days, but we'd been so understaffed in the first place that it meant we didn't have to lose anyone. We'd taken on some more technicians, adjusted the timetables around and she'd explained that she was taking on some teaching staff to help develop the educational program within our department. After all, Seattle Grace was a pretty impressive teaching hospital.

Or excuse me, Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital.

"I've never seen you this angry," I commented wryly, my eyebrows raised as she steamed away, her nostrils flaring. I'd never pinned Mable as violent, but for a second I didn't doubt that she could brawl when push came to shove.

My comment seemed to have the desired effect and she let out a long breath, shaking her head slowly.

"I've never had to deal with such a frustrating man..." Mable mumbled some words under her breath as she followed me into the locker room; she hung a few steps behind me as I hung up my bag and finished my coffee. "Not only did this guy turn up a day late, but he's also like some cuckoo crazy man- like the sort of guy that wears flip flops and uses medical marijuana for an imaginary disease."

"Would you blame him if he had to turn up here? In the middle of World War Three?" I reasoned easily. She rolled her eyes.

"He's from Mercy West already and Katherine assigned me and Helen to help him settle in... We were supposed to meet up with him yesterday but he didn't turn up because his 'flight' was late." Again, Mable didn't look very impressed. "From what I hear from some of the nurses that I went out with last night, all of the staff members from Mercy West are dicks and I'm not surprised that they were stupid enough to get themselves into bankruptcy."

"Well..." I paused. "You're right about some of them being awful. I just had to stand through one of the surgical residents treat me like some sort of television counsellor. I don't think they quite understand that I'm a trained medical professional... and not Dr Phil."

"Dicks." Mable insisted, halting only to drain the contents of her espresso shot. "Every single one of them."

I was about to supply a (naturally) witty response, but we were cut off by the door opening. I didn't look up from my locker until I heard Mable groan loudly, stuffing her coffee cup into the waste bin. When I glanced upwards, she was walking rapidly away from the door and giving me a long, pressing look that spoke wonders.

"Watch out... it's the new 'Director Of Psychiatry Education'."

I wasn't exactly sure what to expect. I'd had higher expectations for the Mercy West staff to begin with, but I supposed that I hadn't met enough of them to gauge a proper opinion on them all.

Sure, Reed Adamson had gone around picking fights and Mable had already had a rough start without new Education Director, but all I'd heard from the nurses was that some of the new residents were too ballsy for their own good.

The man that entered the room was tall, wiry and was dressed in a tweed jacket that he curtly removed, folded into a square and placed neatly into his locker. He didn't look up at either of us, nor really acknowledged anything at all, just got on with his preparations for the day ahead.

I automatically assumed that he'd just gotten back from some sort of talk or tour with Helen, as the resident psychiatrist walked in a few moments afterwards, making direct eye contact with Mable. They communicated silently for a few moments, but I didn't pay any attention, I just stared at the new hire, trying to place where I recognised him.

Then it clicked.

"Dr Bateman?"

Dr Bateman looked up from his locker, his brow furrowing as he turned around, as if bewildered. To my right, Mable let out an indigent squeak as she glanced sideways at me, not sure what was happening. But my face exploded into a smile.

I should've known.

"Yes, hello?"

It was the same voice, the same pair of round brown eyes that were hidden between thick, horn-rimmed glasses. He peered at me, still probably as blind as a bat, and I walked towards him, chuckling as he squinted at me like a resurfaced mole.

"Hi, it's great for you to join us." Both Helen and Mable looked miffed at my approach and I could tell from a quick glance that Helen hadn't exactly taken to him either.

His gaze focused on me slowly but there was no recognition in his eyes as I held out a hand for him to shake. He completely ignored the gesture.

"Uh, I'm Elizabeth Montgomery- I took your class at Harvard on Trauma Counselling a few years back-"

Again, he didn't seem to recognise me.

"I was the one who co-wrote the paper on The Progression of Chronic Grief with Charles Perkins-"

"Oh! Lizzie!"

I gave him a strained smile.

Yes, now he recognised me.

Behind me, Mable had her eyebrows bunched low, watching sceptically as Bateman smiled serenely.

"Class of 2006?"

I nodded at his words and sneaked a glance at Helen, who was watching us with raised eyebrows. Helen Fincher wasn't someone I'd bonded within my short time at Seattle Grace Mercy West, but I'd call her an acquaintance for sure.

She was fine-tuned in the area of trauma consultancy, just like I was, but had backgrounds in criminology and victim rehabilitation. It was almost a wonder that she hadn't heard of Kyle Bateman, or at least heard of his rather... unique reputation.

"Oh, how brilliant!" He remarked, clapping me on the shoulder. "That class, I remember, it was seeded with true talent, that Charles in particular- Hopefully, you have some of it within you. Everyone I've come across here has been useless--"

My smile wavered.

I laughed nervously. "It's lovely to see you."

"You too, Lizzie." He beamed at me, shrugged on his lab coat and turned on his heel, escaping into the hallway.

That left the three of us, silent and stunned. I stared at the door that he'd exited through, biting down, hard on my lip. On either side of me, Mable and Helen seemed to be slightly shellshocked, their eyes wide and unblinking. I swivelled on the ball of my foot, sighing to myself as I texted Charlie discreetly- You would not believe what just happened...

As my head fought to adjust itself, I thought back to Boston and how I'd finally been able to become a human being while rushing papers and hauling coffee. All was a drift down memory lane until Helen audibly cleared her throat.

I turned to face them just as Mable spoke incredulously.

"Lizzie?"

I grimaced. "Oh, don't get me started."

"He's a major dick." She repeated again and Helen nodded feverishly. I heaved a sigh.

"Major, major dick." I agreed and slammed my locker shut.

***

Thursday was the day of a hospital mixer, in which somehow the hospital board thought it would be appropriate to channel their already thinning funds into an open bar at Joe's, the same bar that I'd first gone to with Addison and the old gang to celebrate Archer's recovery.

Mable had spent the whole of Tuesday rambling about it and then most of Wednesday moaning about it to. According to her (with a partial agreement from both Eli and Helen) it was going to be one of the biggest fails to be witnessed since Hilary Duffs's singing career.

I spent the whole of Wednesday morning chasing about Cristina on the surgical case that she claimed needed a 'weirdo doctor's touch'.

He'd presented me with a case: Frank Newsbaum, admitted with stab wounds to his groin. At first, I'd been utterly confused at why she'd felt the need to have me on the case, but then she'd gone into specific details- Frank had been assaulted by Don, whose daughter he'd been having an undisclosed relationship with.

Cristina had asked, desperately, whether there was anything that the psychiatry department could do counselling-wise to stop Don from repeatedly attempting to attack Frank.

"Maybe further down the line," I'd mused, stood at one end of the ER as Cristina shovelled gauzes into her arms.

I gazed over at the two bickering men, one of whom was lying in a hospital bed and had Owen and an unfamiliar new, Mercy West doctor lingering around him. Everything seemed to be controlled until the ambulance doors flung open and a girl came racing through the ER, her eyes dead set on Frank.

Cristina had shot me a look and hurried towards the patient; I drifted after her, unprofessionally enamoured by the thought of drama.

We'd reached them just in time to see the girl exclaim Frank's name worriedly and throw her arms around him, kissing him passionately.

"Oh- oh my god- are you okay, honey?"

She'd looked at him desperately, searching him for any noticeable wounds, all while Owen and the doctor in orange scrubs exchanged a look. From this angle, I had been able to see (what I'd presumed) was the girl's father.

With a curtain obscuring his view, he'd seemed to recognise his daughter's voice and tensed up, his face falling into a scowl.

"I'll be fine sweetheart." Frank had reassured her softly as she nodded, her eyes already swirling with tears. Owen seemed to notice me and gazed blankly as if he wasn't sure what to do. Did she qualify as a family member, as a significant other? Did she need to be removed?

The Mercy West doctor had looked rather hesitant too.

But their question was soon answered by Don.

"Get off her, you perv!"

The girl had flinched as her father ripped back the curtain separating them, glowering heatedly at Frank with a deep-rooted hatred. Frank had stared back defiantly and we all suddenly found ourselves in a standoff.

Despite the distorted look on her face, Cristina had looked as though she was highly intrigued by the show they were putting on for us.

"Daddy!" His daughter had exclaimed, shortly bursting into tears.

But Don wasn't paying any attention; his dark eyes zeroed in on Frank and he had appeared reluctant to budge. Meanwhile, the girl hung onto Frank tightly, like a startled monkey in a Lorenz experiment.

"I will kill you- you son of a bitch!"

Right in front of our eyes, a sudden brawl had ensued. Don lunged for a medical utensil that had been left on a tray beside his bed, a small metal hammer that looked as though it could do a fair bit of damage.

I'd drawn in a tight breath as Cristina quickly called for someone to alert security- but just as she did so, Don had leapt to his feet and propelled himself in Frank's direction.

As if I could do anything at all, I'd taken a few steps forward... but Don was suddenly intercepted by the Mercy West resident, who came flying out of nowhere, tackling Don like a premium NFL player and sending him crashing to the floor.

The yelp that Don had let out was reminiscent to a strangled animal and for a moment, it was all that could be heard. We'd all stood there, stunned by what had transpired.

Don had writhed against the floor, causing the resident to yell at him incoherently and for Owen to join him in holding the furious parent down. It'd seemed as if the whole ER was silent, staring at the two doctors as they handed Don off onto the security team and then turned back to his sobbing daughter and her lover.

Cristina had met my gaze. This was definitely turning out to be an eventful week.

"Holy shit." I said very softly, my eyebrows raised in what I was sure a very impressed look of surprise.

The Mercy Wester dusted off his scrubs and, as if he'd heard me, he caught my eye. I tilted my head to the side.

"Nice work." Owen had commented to the resident after a long pause, once Don had been taken off into a security office for Frank's safety. "Tackle like that, you had to have played football."

The resident, who was tall and had the sort of build that I'd recognised in jocks previously, had given Owen a sheepish smile, seeming flattered.

He'd briefly glanced up at me, then over to Cristina- who hadn't looked too impressed and instead was glaring at the gauzes she'd gone back to preparing as an ER nurse handed her antiseptic wash. I'd crossed my arms over my chest, watching as Frank and his girlfriend(?) hugged each other tightly, with Frank whispering words of reassurance to her tear-stained face.

"I played a little in college." He'd admitted, picking up the hammer from the floor and handing it to the same nurse that had been helping Cristina.

"Safety?"

"And wide receiver, yeah." Owen had looked delighted, smiling widely at the resident as he handed the chart off and began to examine Frank's wounds. All the while, Cristina brooded darkly in the far corner. "Offense and defence."

"Impressive."

Cristina had rolled her eyes at the two of them, not quite noticing when they both parted off to work on transporting Frank into a private room.
mInstead, she'd been left with Frank and his girl, who both suddenly realised the absence of their saviour- Frank then becomed her towards him and she moved forwards, probably hoping for a medical question.

Instead, he'd just stuttered to her, his eyes wide. "C-can you bring that guy over later? I want to thank him. He saved my life." My mouth proceeded to then fall open and I looked away as Cristina sighed to herself.

"No, I saved your life. I'm still saving it." Her words had been insistent and hard as she gave him a long hard look.

Frank had gulped at her tone and began to talk, but was cut off as Cristina stalked away. Trailing after her, I'd let out an unsteady laugh.

"I take it I'm not needed quite yet."

Cristina had rolled her eyes. "Unless you can diagnose daddy issues and figure out this mess, I'll go with a hard no."

"There's only one description that I can give for that mess.." I'd drawled out just as Cristina slapped the chart Owen had previously handed to her onto the nurses' station. "And that's Sigmund Freud's wet dream."

***

My Thursday evening was much like Mable had predicted it to be; an encore of Lindsay Lohan's "I Decide" on repeat.

There was an uncanny, clear divide within the bar; Mercy West staff lingered by the bar, crowding near the door as if they needed to make a sudden escape. Meanwhile, the rest of the staff, those who hailed from the original Seattle Grace payroll, were all further down on the bar, taking their place on the back of Joe's bar, by the toilets.

I was sat comfortably at the end of the bar, nursing a coca-cola, smiling at Joe, the bartender, as he bustled past. Behind me, Derek, Owen and Mark were in the middle of a game of darts, with Lexie sat beside me, keeping score on a beer-stained napkin.

Cristina was crushing peanuts with her fist glaring over at everyone who dared to look at her, while Alex and Izzie were leant against each other, both looking rather eager to leave.

This mixer was awfully awkward; there was no conversation, no mixing- other than the worrying amount of cocktails Lexie had been getting through. From my position at the top of the bar, I could spy Reed and her Mercy West buddies, all having a good night.

When I looked over, she was busy doing a tequila shot, with a wedge of lemon, shoved in between her lips, her little surgical friends all gwaffing at her sour expression-- I wasn't exactly sure why they were laughing, it was the exact look she'd had on her face every time I'd seen her.

"Look at them, all so happy-- this is our bar."

Cristina's dark mutterings caught my ear as she came swinging up beside me, hauling herself up onto the bar seat. She had the same look in her eye that she'd had when we'd witnessed one of her patients being tackled to the floor by the heroic resident that had now garnered a little bit of popularity through the hospital.

"They're drinking our beer and sitting on our chairs..."

"Technically it's Joe's bar and... Joe's beer and Joe's chairs," Lexie responded meekly.

The look Cristina shot her could only be described as serrated and deadly. I didn't say anything, just played with the straw in my drink with grimace plastered across my face.

"Well, if you really want to get into technicalities- then technically I don't give a damn... "

Truthfully, Cristina Yang looked as though she'd already drunk a little too much. She was swaying on her stool slightly and her eyes had an unfocused look to them; she held out an arm and flagged Joe down tirelessly, ordering yet another few shots.

I glanced hesitantly over at Owen, her boyfriend, but he looked oblivious. "This is still complete bullshit- the resident I was stuck with has become some sort of hero-"

"Yours is the one who saved the whole E.R. From the maniac with the hammer?"

Alex appeared out of thin air, reaching over and stealing one of Cristina's shots as Joe placed them down onto the bartop. The drunk doctor scowled at him and swatted at his arm, but he tossed back the tequila without even wincing.

"Okay, he didn't save anyone," Cristina interjected, waving an arm about and slurring very slightly. "He did some stupid ninja leap and then tripped a guy. I used actual medicine to stop a person from dying. Beth'll tell you- didn't he-" I just shrugged, setting my eyes on Alex pointedly.

"I heard that your one, that Reed, got a standing ovation in the OR." Alex ignored me completely. "But, my new resident is a sexist pig who calls me Lizzie, so that sucks a whole lot."

"You see the redhead, by the door? All perky and nice-looking?"

In unison, all three of us turned, looking over towards the door where a petite girl with round doe eyes lingered by the doorway. Lexie's pause was filled with the sound of me loudly sipping at the bottom of my coca-cola, causing Alex to scowl over at me.

"That's April and she's my resident," Lexie's nose scrunched, "And...Well, mine has a notebook, A notebook that she takes notes in, Notes of a very personal nature." She again hesitantly paused. "...And I stole it."

"You what?" I exclaimed incredulously, wheeling around to look at the younger Grey sister, my eyes wide. Cristina and Alex displayed similar reactions, with Cristina almost drunkenly falling off her chair as she turned.

"Give it," Cristina demanded, slamming her palm against the bartop.

Lexie's cheeks flushed darkly and she shook her head quickly, her hair bouncing. "No. No, I-I am not sinking to their level." Her voice was awfully shaky and I could tell that she was already regretting what she'd done. "They are vindictive and they are aggressive and... And they are not team players... And if we are not careful... That spirit is going to infect our hospital. We have to fight it."

"Cristina," I interjected sharply, causing the drunk doctor to swing her head over to me, eyes slanted. "Take notes- That's what an impassioned speech looks like."

"Oh shut the fuck up."

"Which is why you stole her notebook?" Alex, on the other hand, wasn't through with Lexie. He looked at her, his brow furrowed as she nervously pushed her hair behind her ear. "...and then read it?"

"Well, she's not a very nice person," Lexie mumbled sheepishly. "But don't tell me that you haven't done something shitty-- I heard that you stole Reed's scans to try and hijack her surgical case."

"I was taking back a case that was mine in the first place," Alex scoffed, "Sue me."

He then looked over at Izzie as she tenderly approached him, setting a hand on his shoulder. She leant over, collecting a drink that she'd already ordered from a clearly overworked Joe.

"Oh- score!" He held his hand out for the alcoholic beverage but she tutted loudly, turning away.

"Oh no," Izzie shook her head as she held the drink away from him. "That's not for you."

"Who's it for?"

"Charles."

"The Mercy Wester?" Alex's tone was a mixture of incredulous and disgusted.

I frowned at Izzie as she nodded calmly, her lips twitching at the thought of the resident she'd befriended. Cristina let out an ungodly groan and shook her head, practically collapsing against the bartop. Quickly, I manoeuvred one of her shots out of the way of her hair, grimacing as it dripped slightly across my fingers.

"They're handing us our asses on a plate," Alex said, "And you're serving 'em a beer?"

"Charles is actually kinda awesome," Izzie admitted slowly, shrugging and blindsiding the look of disbelief that Lexie shot her. "And if you all could get past your sad, little egos... You would realise... you can't write off all of the Mercy West residents just 'cause you feel threatened."

Cristina lifted her head and mumbled rather coherently. "Oh, we don't feel threatened."

"No." Alex agreed.

Lexie, on the other hand, gazed rather intently onto the bartop, tracing the grains of wood with her finger. "Yeah, we feel pretty threatened."

"Honestly, I just feel like I want to hook myself to an IV of scotch-- can someone please take this goddamn shot for me..." I was nothing but honest as I attempted to feed Cristina her shot before my subconscious overran the best of me. Lexie, who I'd honestly thought was the innocent one here, instead took the shot from my hands and tossed it back, groaning slightly as she underestimated how strong it was. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Amongst Alex dragging Izzie away and Cristina continuing to press her face into the bartop, Mark and Derek came up behind Lexie, checking the scores for the darts. An audible groan past Cristina's lips as she reached the wall, in which she probably wanted to transcend onto another plane of existence.

Eventually, she attracted the attention of Owen, who sighed and slowly leant over to check whether she was still alive. As Mark and Derek finally found out that Lexie hadn't been paying as much attention to the darts game as they'd assumed and Owen began talking in an undertone to his borderline-unconscious girlfriend, I looked around aimlessly, catching the eye of what must have been the first Mercy Wester to cross no man's land.

"Impressive," I commented softly as the resident from the tackling incident came and sat beside me, taking up the seat that Lexie had vacated the moment Derek and Mark had appeared.

He grinned at me, flashing a full set of white teeth and a very bright charisma. I leant back onto the bar as he ordered himself a drink, his pale green eyes dancing over to me as I smiled.

"Finally decided to brave the gap, huh?"

"I was inspired by the person whose trying to get Charles drunk," His smiles seemed to be perfectly rehearsed, completely squeaky clean and flawless. I raised an eyebrow subtly as he took his Jack Daniels and took a long sip of it. "I thought it wouldn't hurt to give it a go- "

I hummed softly.

Looking over towards the bottom of the bar, where Reed's companion, the man who'd already appeared to be at least a little bit intimidated me, was joking around with a delighted looking Izzie. It was odd to think that I could now put names to all of the faces that surrounded me, all of these faceless invaders were now April, Charles, Reed and... whoever this man was that was attempting to charm me.

"I'm Jackson," He introduced himself with a little twinkle in his eye that guaranteed the fact that he was trying to get in my good books.

It was as if he'd been able to tap into my brain waves I dropped my straw into my glass and glanced over towards Cristina, who was still completely out of it. Briefly, I wondered whether Reed had been talking about me, or whether Charles had been telling people about how I was 'not-to-be-messed-with.'

"Beth." I smiled back, pushing my empty glass forwards and towards Joe. Jackson, followed the movement of the glass, smirking as he leant forwards.

"Do you want me to get that for you?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

"What's your poison?"

"Coke."

Jackson smiled. "Ah, designated driver?"

"Something like that..." I gave him a strained smile. "But close."

He ordered my drink, which was a bit of a pointless act as it was a free bar. I tilted my head to the side, running my fingers through my hair; my process of getting ready had been a bit rushed this evening as I'd gone straight from work to this mixer.

I'd gotten dressed in a toilet cubicle and messed up applying red lipstick at least two or three times. I wasn't exactly sure if I even looked remotely presentable as the lighting the restroom had been pretty shit to be honest with you.

I mentioned it to him in passing and he look me up and down.

"Impressive," Jackson repeated my words from earlier.

"Yeah."

I thanked him for the Coke and watched bemusedly as he settled down in the bar, looking around at it all as if he hadn't had time to truly take in the bar while helping Reed do tequila shots.

He was the type of guy that would stand out in a crowd, one of those people who, like Charlie and like Mark, were too devilishly handsome not to spot out. He reminded me of Mark in a skewed way, in which his first course of action that been to offer to get me a drink, just as Mark had. But either way, I wasn't interested-- my phone, which was set on the bartop beside me, buzzed with a message from the man I had been waiting for for the whole week.

"Y-you know what..."

The look on my face must have been hilarious, I'd truly thought that Cristina was done for, but she rose off of the bartop like Jesus on the third day. Jackson's expression portrayed that he was in between amused and miffed, glancing over at me as Cristina turned her face towards me, her eyes puffy and her hair plastered over her forehead.

"J-Just because O-Owen doesn't want to have s-sex with me..."

"Oh god," I mumbled, just as Jackson choked on his whisky. I shook my head, wondering whether I should ask Jackson to full-out-tackle Cristina like he'd tackled Don. I also wondered whether I'd been this disastrous when I'd been drunk. I looked over at Jackson, my face grave. "Would you believe me when if I told you that Cristina's one of our brightest residents?"

He just silently shook his head.

"...prioritizing based on some sort of random c-code, Some stupid rule he has not to favour me?"

"Cristina," I interjected as she muttered almost madly to herself. "I think it might be time to get you a taxi--"

"J-Just because you hijacked my surgery," Cristina seemed to glare through me in her drunken stupor, right at Jackson. I sent an apologetic look over to the Mercy Wester, however, he seemed to be deeply amazed by everything that was happening. "What are you going to d-do next? Hi-j-jack my boyfriend? D-Do you want to fuck my boyfriend?"

"Oh boy, yup, definitely the time to get you a cab..."

I looked up and around at the bar desperately, hoping to spot Owen amongst the mixer, but to no avail. He'd abandoned her here. I sighed. So much for the successful therapy sessions.

"Oh J-Jackson, did you play football?" She attempted to mimic Owen's voice (while also feigning a swoon) but it came out worse than Winona Ryder's British accent in Bram Stoker's Dracula. I wasn't exactly what nationality she thought Owen was, but whatever it was, it wasn't American. "Oh Jackson-- what an impressive tackle-"

"Is she okay?" Jackson asked me, leaning in as I attempted to flag Joe down.

However, the busy bar meant that Joe could barely even glance in my direction, talk about help me find a cab number.

"Do you want the honest answer or the one that I'm hoping will help save at least some of her dignity?"

Jackson thought it best not to answer.

I opened my mouth to declare about how I was going to try and go off to find a taxi-number but was distracted by the re-emergence of Lexie, who was followed closely by her boyfriend. She stooped down under Jackson's chair, collecting her belongings, barely even pausing to hear my questions. By the time she'd turned and left, the first syllables had barely left my lips and I resorted to stopping Mark, throwing out a hand and catching his wrist.

He turned around to look at me, his eyebrows bunched together. "What's going on here?"

"Honestly, you don't want to know." I summarised quickly, picking up my phone as Led Zepplin blared once again. I silenced it swiftly, as the song caused Cristina to grovel and slump back against the bar. "Do you have any cab numbers or anything, I need to get Cristina home."

"Uh," Mark glanced between me and Jackson. He seemed to notice a kink in my plan. "Do you actually know where Cristina lives?"

"Fuck."

I looked over at Cristina and bit down onto my bottom lip, hard, wondering how I could possibly get her home. Maybe I could phone Meredith? She was home now-- but wouldn't she be asleep?

From the looks of things, Derek had already left and Alex was nowhere to be seen either. The only person I remotely recognised on this side of the room was a drunk Helen who was throwing darts aimlessly at the wall and not even hitting the board once. Mable hadn't even bothered to show up and I knew Eli had dinner with a girl he'd been flirting with that worked on the coffee cart at the hospital.

When I turned around to look up at Mark, he seemed to be gazing at me with an unreadable intensity in his eyes, the same sort of look that he had when he was deep in thought.

I frowned at him, momentarily ignoring Jackson as he attempted to get my attention with an awkward joke. As if he could sense that there was something going on, he fell silent, nursing his whisky with his brow furrowed.

"Is that Charlie?" Mark asked in a hushed voice, just low enough for Jackson to miss. I stared at him, aghast and let a slow laugh fall through my lips. I had no fucking idea how he'd heard about Charlie and honestly, I didn't really want to know.

"No, that's Jackson- he's a Mercy West new hire." I turned towards Jackson, who beamed at me shortly, and gestured between the two men. "Jackson, this is Mark Sloan, head of Plastics, Mark this is Jackson..."

"Avery."

"Avery, he's one of the Mercy West residents and was nice enough to refill my coca-cola." I finished, smiling serenely as the two men shook hands. Jackson glanced over at me fleetingly, as if confused why Mark fixed him with a long look as if attempting to size him up. My smile was suspended in awkward silence. "Well- this is great and all but I need to-"

"Were you the guy who did the tackle in the E.R?" Mark asked, his voice almost sceptical as Jackson clutched his whisky glass a little tighter. I let out a loud groan. "The heroic save of the hammer maniac?" There was a joking, casual tone to his voice but his eyes were hard.

"Yeah," Jackson said sheepishly, but like Mark, his posture was stiff and eyes unwelcoming. "Beth- you were there right, you saw it?"

He turned his head towards me and I had not been so close to bolting since I'd gotten here. Why the hell did I have to get involved? Mark looked over at me too, his blue eyes blazing.

"Y-Yeah, I was." I replied quickly, my voice faltered as Mark's gaze sharpened. I blanched, mumbling to myself. "I mean.. It wasn't overly impressive-"

"What area of surgery are you looking into?"

"Cardio." Jackson took Mark's question with ease and couldn't help but feel suffocated between the two of them. I got the instant feeling that I was stuck in between two Alpha males, left gasping for breath as they had a quick battle of the egos. "I like the fast-paced rush of it. I'm not too keen on Plastic Surgery, boob jobs and butt lifts aren't really my sort of thing-"

"Okay!" I interrupted, cutting Jackson off before Mark could get too ruffled. I got to my feet, ripping my jacket from underneath me and aggressively shoving my arms through the holes. "I think I'm just going to let Cristina crash overnight in my apartment- Gentlemen, I would say that it's been a fun night but then I'd be both a pathological liar and delusional."

"I'll help you take her up," Mark said swiftly before Jackson could even take a breath. I halted, turning to give him a long, serrated look that didn't disguise my scepticism and reproach. My ex-boyfriend sighed. "I'm going back to the apartment anyway."

"Fine." I huffed softly, turning back to the bar to throw down a tip that was unnecessary but probably heavily appreciated by an overworked Joe. When I looked over at him, Jackson looked miffed but hopeful.

"If you're not doing anything over the weekend, maybe we could go out for coffee or something?"

I paused. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed how Mark- who was in the process of hauling Cristina up off of the barstool, was listening intently. I kissed my teeth, rolling my eyes at the man-child before giving Jackson a smooth smile.

I wasn't exactly sure if I'd done anything this evening that could be qualified as "leading" the guy on. We'd barely even made conversation, with Cristina being the main conversation topic anyway.

"I'm sorry, I can't." Jackson looked vaguely crestfallen but nodded softly, his lips pulling back into a smile. His reaction delighted me-- maybe I was wrong, maybe he wasn't like Mark. "I'm actually waiting for my boyfriend, he's flying in tomorrow and visiting me. But we can get lunch at some point next week maybe? Can never have too many friends."

"That'd be great."

I gave him a parting smile before turning and walking towards the door. Mark was trailing behind me, his arms full of Cristina's tangled limbs.

When I held open the door for him, he looked as though he was distracted, deep in thought once again. It was only when the cool night air hit us and Cristina let out an incoherent noise of discomfort, that he finally spoke.

"I didn't know you had a boyfriend." His statement caused me to snort quietly to myself, as if he, out of all people, deserved to have a live running update on my love life. I turned towards him, giving him a long and stoic look that hid my pride and incredulousness.

"You never asked." Was my simple reply.