𝙓𝙓𝙑𝙄𝙄.
THE INEVITABILITY OF FALLING APART

──────

CRISTINA DIDN'T LIKE my spontaneous decision to be an early bird; in fact, she audibly protested against it.

When I breezed in, the morning of Charlie's arrival in Seattle and the morning-after the mixer at Joe's bar, she was still in the same sorry state I'd left her. 

She'd been unceremoniously dumped in the centre of my makeshift family area with a few fresh linens bundled over the top of her and curtains thrown over the windows. There'd been a little bit of thought on my behalf the night before, I'd already prepared a glass of water and Mark had given me some painkillers to leave out for her. 

But from my position, stalled in the doorway of my bedroom, I'd noted that both the medicine and the glass were untouched and that all I could really make out of the successful surgeon was a plume of unruly hair.

At five am, when I'd slightly jostled her on my way out for my morning jog, Cristina had croaked out the firmest deadpan I'd ever witnessed.

"You wake me, you die."

I decided to let her sleep in a bit.

Instead, I jogged around the block, stopping only to pick up some post on my way back into the apartment building. 

I checked my letters as I stepped into the elevator, ripping the top off of what appeared to be my first utility bill. I hummed to myself lightly, scuffing the sole of my trainer as I waited for my floor. My earbud swung against my collar bone as the muffled sound of my music blared, my lips pursed and my eyes ghosted over the words of the bill. 

My first sting in Seattle, surely wasn't that a milestone of some sort?

"I didn't realise that you were a budding athlete."

When the elevator door opened, I was faced with a meek-looking Eli, who was positioned outside of my apartment door, clearly waiting with purpose. I looked towards him with a skewed smile, rolling my eyes as I adjusted my sports bra.

He looked as though he hadn't slept a lot and, instantly, I wondered how his date had gone the night before. He'd really been interested in the coffee cart girl and I'd stood outside the nurse's locker room and judged him on whether he was wearing enough cologne ("There's an art to it, you want to say fuck me not fuck off"). It'd been quite interesting to see how genuinely nervous he'd been-- I'd grown accustomed to his asshole ego and his lack of humility. 

He'd played with his sleeves, taken a deep breath and admitted that he didn't go on many dates ("I would've never been able to tell, you look like a teen about to ask out his crush to prom") and my sarcasm on the subject had not been appreciated.

In all honesty, he'd been cute, all bashful and nervous.

I'd remarked about that as he went to leave but he's spun around in the doorway and threatened me: "if you ever say anything like that ever again, I'm telling your sugar daddy, Charlie, that you let Bailey tear the shit out of you." And that had been that.

But now, I tried to gage Eli's facial expression as I approached him. 

He was here awfully early and we usually met up for a pre-shift coffee on a Friday morning at the coffee cart in the hospital reception. I frowned when I saw his nonchalant and dead set expression.

"How did it go, Casanova?"

It was then that I noticed he clutched two coffee cups in his hands; they were not the familiar Seattle Grace ones, rather overpriced Starbucks branded cups that made my stomach drop. I looked from him to the coffee and back again.

"Oh no."

"Yeah," Eli drawled, a hint of awkwardness in his voice as he bit down on his bottom lip. My face must have betrayed my heartbreak for him as he sighed, rolling his eyes and squaring his shoulders. "We can't go to that coffee cart- that girl is a psycho."

I opened my door and Eli passed me the coffee, causing me to have to kick it open with a trainer-clad foot. By this time, it was 8 am, one hour until Cristina's morning rounds, so I figured it would be a good time to wake her up. 

She let out a long groan at the sound of my door banging, rolling over on the seat and burying her head into a cute pillow I'd bought from IKEA.

Eli blinked down at her as we passed. I didn't react, just tossed down my bills, took a mouthful of coffee and began dragging out an assortment of utensils and pans from the cupboards in my kitchen. When I glanced up, Eli was giving me an extremely troubled look.

"Oh yeah, um, Eli this is Cristina, Cristina this is Eli— Cristina passed out on my couch last night." I could tell that my quick words did nothing to settle Eli's confusion. Alongside that, Cristina just let out another sound of agitation and tossed her limbs in the air. I smiled at the two of them shortly. "Now, breakfast anyone?"

Eli nodded hesitantly and Cristina didn't respond, so I busied myself with making omelettes for the two of them. Obviously, I wasn't Gordon Ramsay by any means, but I could make some mean hangover cures when called for. 

While Eli perched on the armchair beside Cristina's nest of blankets, his nose wrinkled as Cristina groaned and writhed, clearly suffering still. I hummed lightly, cracking eggs and whisking away, lathering up a pan and producing some pretty solid cheese and onion omelettes.

By the time I was finished, Cristina had managed to sit upright. The two of them eventually made their way to the food and I watched as Eli poked his breakfast with a caution, as if he didn't quite believe that I, of all people, was capable of cooking something edible. 

I rolled my eyes and shoved everything into my sink, for me to probably forget about and get in a panic over later before Charlie turned up.

I left them be for at least fifteen minutes, quickly throwing myself in the shower and getting changed, ready for work. 

By the time I was out of the bathroom, Eli's plate had been cleared and Cristina was now sat at the counter, grimacing as she struggled to eat. He was sat on the couch, reading one of the trashy magazines that I'd left on my coffee table, his eyes glazing over whatever Brangelina was doing. I cleared my throat as I picked up my pace, walking towards Cristina while stabbing an earring through my ear-lobe.

"Are you going to go back to your apartment? Do you want me to call Owen to come and pick you up?" 

Cristina didn't really respond to my questions, instead, continued to rather blankly stare at her breakfast. Over her shoulder, Eli caught my eye, his lips expanded into a smirk. I shot him a look.

 "Are you going into work today?"

That caught her attention.

"If I don't I'll probably get caught in the second round of cuts," She muttered grimly, before coughing into her hand, her face contorting. "I'm going to straight into the hospital and show that Jackson guy to keep his grimy little hands off of my patients-- there's only one cardio god here, and it's me."

I stalled in my steps. "Oh- well, that's... nice. You're welcome to use my shower if you want to freshen up before going in."

Cristina paused, her dark eyes rolling up to meet mine, her forehead creased and she frowned deeply. She seemed as though she had a lot on her mind so I was caught in apprehension, just waiting for her vocalise it. Sheepishly, Eli walked towards the pair of us, seeming to mirror my curiosity; he leant against the bar and watched Cristina closely.

"Why are you helping me?"

I let out a confused laugh. "What do you mean?"

"You're being nice." Her nose wrinkled again. "Addison isn't nice and neither is Archer-- why are you being nice?"

I wasn't exactly sure how to react, but Eli did- he let out a long, low laugh and bit down on his bottom lip to avoid the harsh look of the surgical resident beside him. For a few moments, I stared at her, my mouth suspended in an open, slightly off guard expression.

I closed my mouth.

Then I opened it again.

I closed it again.

I wasn't sure whether Cristina was complimenting me or insulting me.

"Um... thanks?"

"It's just... Addison was a bitch." I didn't quite disagree with her. "She was awful to Meredith and she did a lot of shit while she was here... and just- you remind me a lot like her. With the attitude -that better than everyone attitude and the comments and the heels and the--" I raised my eyebrows. Wow, okay. "But you're nice- even though Alex called you a bitch and that everyone thinks your job is pointless."

Again, I wasn't exactly sure what was happening.

Neither did Eli. His amusement seemed to fade away as Cristina cleared her throat, running her fingers through her hair. She blinked once, placed her cutlery down onto her plate and shoved the plate forwards. Silently, she turned on her heel, downed the pills I'd left out for her and collected her jacket off of the back of the seat. 

I exchanged a look with Eli, slightly shell shocked about what had just happened, but Eli's face was incredulous, his eyebrows almost flying away into his receding- Eli hated it when I joked about that- hairline.

"I'll shower in the hospital, thanks for the couch." And then Cristina just left.

She left.

"Well, aren't I glad that I turned up early today?" Eli smirked as he handed me my second earring, of which I'd left stranded on the countertop in my shock. I took it from him, my lips curling downwards into a frown, impaling my earlobe before I threw Cristina's plate in the sink with the rest of the mess. "Breakfast and a show? Nothing gets better than that."

"This is why I never hosted people," I muttered to myself in an undertone, squeezing my eyes closed and rubbing them once I'd turned away from Eli.

I wasn't sure how to process anything Cristina had said; Alex had called me a bitch? Didn't surprise me. But the attitude? The comments? My job? I shot a look down at my feet. And what the hell is wrong with heels?

"Don't take it personally, Bethany, she's just a tiny bit cold-hearted and I'm about ninety-eight per cent sure she doesn't have a soul."

I chuckled despite my sudden dip in mood. "Where's the two per cent gone?"

Eli just shrugged. "I don't know- but you've seen Grey and Yang right? They're like The Sisterhood Of The Travelling Pants, all along with Stevens and Karev."

I couldn't quite find the energy to correct him.

***

My day was composed of little fragments that didn't quite fit together but seemed to all slam into some order to form a Friday.

I watched from afar as my old Psychology professor lead a handful of prospective interns through the department, exchanging anxious glances with a bemused Helen over my coffee. I watched Mable tear down the hallway after a patient having a psychotic break - of course, after being told firmly, I can handle this, and returning to my coffee. 

I sat with a handful of patients before lunch, filled out a handful of prescriptions and wandered into the canteen in the main hospital building to have lunch with a frazzled Derek.

As I perched on the chair, he started talking in length about how he was facing a difficult milestone in his career, a tumour that was toying with him, goading him.

He couldn't give too much away, after all, patient-doctor-confidentiality- but the details were familiar to me. Ever so often, a surgeon would come across a case like this- for Addie, it had been an ugly postnatal condition that she'd laboured over for weeks before picking up a scalpel and saving that mother's life. 

My brother's had been a rather gnarly Craniopharyngioma in a middle-aged man, which not only was rare but painstakingly so.

I didn't quite know what to say to Derek; my surgical knowledge was dwindling slightly, kind of like a dream that you really badly want to remember but slowly lose to time. 

I knew the common things, like what a Craniopharyngioma was, how bad a spinal tumour was, how to do a decent suture... all that jazz. But I strained to think of any of the little techniques, the things that I knew would benefit Derek in the long run-- the sort of stuff I would have supplied him back in New York.

"I can't think of anything, I'm sorry." My voice was soft, distant and Derek looked up from his baked potato, brow creasing as his eyes crinkled in the corner from a sad smile.

At some point, I'd been one of his interns and I'd been stood in that room, talking him through strategies and using the bank of knowledge a top-of-the-class-Montgomery-student would've had. 

I'd disliked neurosurgery, too many variables to take account for, too many defining cuts and decisions-- but I'd enjoyed helping Derek with his breakthroughs, supplying him with little textbook quotes and prompts for him to get the job done.

There was a pert silence as my lack of knowledge suddenly dawned on me. Sure, I could remember the sutures' Mark had coached me tirelessly on, I could picture my old medical textbook and probably still name every major bone in the body- no thanks to the catchy tune- but everything I'd prided myself on during my internship was gone.

Well fuck.

"It's alright, I'll figure it out one way or another."

Derek didn't linger on it too long, but I knew that we were both thinking the same thing. It scared me. It was a negative change that had occurred since New York that I hadn't ever realised-- and I wasn't quite sure why it affected me so deeply. He let out a breath as I hesitated over my pasta salad.

"I have to, so much rides on this surgery."

I was a psychiatrist now, I didn't need to know how to do an elaborate surgery, I didn't even need to know what a Craniopharyngioma was, or how bad a spinal tumour was, or even how to do a decent suture-- all I needed to know what Psychology and the biology that went along with it.

But still, a tightness grasped my chest- I found it unsettling.

 I'd had to come to terms with it in New York when I'd made the unceremonious decision to no longer pursue surgery. I'd taken my personal setbacks and my sacking as a sign to stop, to stop engaging with the one thing that had eaten up so much of my life that it had left a heavy absence. Even so-- sometimes it hurt.

Looking at Derek, it hurt.

***

"Have you seen Izzie?"

I looked up from the patient notes I was putting together, raising an eyebrow as he approached me, looking miffed. In fact, he appeared rather thunderous, as if there was something that was heavy on his mind. I opened my mouth to respond, but my lost expression seemed to answer his question.

His dark eyes blistered into mine uncomfortably and I consciously closed my mouth, deciding that it was best not to ask questions. I hadn't seen Izzie, in fact, it had been suspiciously quiet on the Izzie front come to think of it-- and something in my head told me that it was the precise reason why Alex was so angry today.

I could almost feel the electricity crackling around him as he exhaled loudly, turning around, throwing his arms a little, and taking off back in the path he'd come.

I'd received a call later that day from Dr Gendall, the oncology resident who had taken on Izzie's case as soon as her cancer stopped growing. Izzie had not called back to confirm her IL-2 appointment for this week. That built up anticipation for the check-up I had; said check-up had been scheduled for 3 pm and when I arrived to the oncology department, I was only met with an empty room.

No Izzie or Gendall insight.

"Hey," I found Dr Swender's secretary as he hurried across the office towards the back of the department. "Has Izzie Stevens checked in?" I glanced towards my phone and frowned. It'd just turned 3:45 pm. "Her appointment was with me and Gendall at 3 pm. I've been waiting for over half an hour."

I was told to wait a few seconds while he searched up her patient record on a computer. While I waited, my foot tapped anxiously against the floor— I had a bad feeling about this and last time I'd had a bad feeling about something, it'd been about George.

"It says here that Izzie Stevens was discharged earlier today."

"What?!" I exclaimed, my eyes wide as I rounded the desk, stooping so I could read the chart myself. The secretary let out a breath, one which sounded distinctively like an annoyance. "No- that can't be right-"

But it was. It was inputted on the document clearly. Dr E.Gendall had discharged Izzie at 3:04 pm, a whole six minutes before I arrived.

My stomach dropped.

No. No. No--

"Where is Dr Gendall?" Swender's secretary let out another sigh, shrugging. He searched it up. Lunch break. I had a cold chance in hell of tracking him down. "Can I talk to Dr Swender?"

"She has appointments non stop until 6 pm."

Fuck.

There was no way that Izzie should have been discharged. I'd be swapping words with her oncologist, that was for sure. Izzie was three-quarters way through with her treatment, dropping out now was inconceivable. 

The thought of her walking away with the end in sight infuriated me, my chest was tight and my mouth fell into a thin line.

"Can you print this for me?"

I'd never quite realised how slow printers were in this hospital. I hovered around it, my heels clicking loudly as I paced back and forth, waiting for Izzie's discharge form to come out of the machine. After a few minutes, I truly felt like channelling my inner quarter-back and full out tackling the stupid machine to the ground. 

I let out an impatient huff. Relief only filled me when the splutter of the paper drawing out from under the printer's shutters filled the lively office space.

And then I was running, shoving my shoulder through doors and fighting to stay balanced on top of my heels.

I took the journey up the elevator shaft to the surgical floor, to read over the form.

Her signature was there, clear against the dotted line. She had a better signature than mine. Yet the sight of it made me feel sick. It was a feeling that burned at the back of my throat and stretched from my toes right to my split ends. 

I closed my eyes tightly.

Izzie what the fuck have you done?

My finger slipped on the second piece of paper and I found myself staring down at a photocopy of a second form that I hadn't even realised I'd grabbed amongst my rage.

I, the patient, acknowledge that I am acting against the advice of my doctors...

"Oh no."

Just as I felt my stomach twist again, the elevator doors split open, spilling me out onto the surgical reception. As always, it was littered with ordered chaos and I had to manoeuvre through the busy crowds on the way to a place I had an inkling Alex would be.

Sure enough, I spotted him by a nurses station, pacing back and forth much as I had in the oncology office. 

He looked as angry as he had been earlier, his face scrunched up into a look of severe agitation. I slowed down as I approached him and braced myself for his reaction to my appearance.

"...Izzie Stevens-"

I fell silent, standing beside him as he continued a tortured path. He had a phone clasped against his ear and something about his laboured breath told me to leave him be for the moment, despite the urgency of what I had to tell him.

"No, no- Stevens. S-T-E-V—" He was growing antsier, his temper flaring and his face turning a rather vivid shade of scarlet. "She was due for a dose of IL-2 today-"

Then suddenly, everything stopped.

Alex ceased his pacing. I couldn't see his face from this angle, but I was sure that something had shifted. The person on the other end of the phone call had said something that had caused the falter in his step.

When he spoke, his voice was much softer.

"We've already paid for another session of chemotherapy. Legally, you're going to have to give it to her— I'm not interested in a 'effing refund." Sadly, I sighed, realising who he was talking to. I envisioned Swender's secretary on the other side of the line, relaying the same information that he had just given me. "No, she's not at home- you've got to try her cell phone. No, I can't get in contact with her—"

Alex turned back around, this time spotting me. His teeth were clenched and a vein throbbed in his forehead.

"10 am, tomorrow- don't cancel it. She'll be there."

He hung up. His arm dropped and he turned his back on me.

"She was discharged."

His voice was so quiet that I barely even heard him. He sounded so suddenly fragile that I was worried that he'd strike out or cry. Abruptly, he wheeled around, his face intense as I held out the discharge papers wordlessly.

"I just found out, I-" My voice caught in my throat, my eyes burning as I suddenly was overcome by the need to cry. I adjusted myself just after Alex snatched the paper from my outstretched hand. His face contorted as he flipped through the pages. "W-What is Izzie thinking?-"

"I don't know." He said sharply, his breath catching at the back of his throat as he noticed the final form.

The legal paper stating that the hospital could not be held accountable for anything that happened to Izzie after she signed that paper. She'd gone against the advice of her doctors and she'd just left.

"I don't know." He repeated. "That's the problem. I don't know what the fuck is happening-"

"She must've been in the hospital." I watched as Alex shook his head, throwing the discharge papers onto the desk. "She's been here Alex- we can find her doctor and we could find the security footage and find her- or- I can cancel my appointments for the evening and-"

I had to admit, my ideas were less orderly conduct and more James Bond. After all, I'd never quite been in a situation like this. From what I'd gauged from Alex, Izzie was awol. 

She wasn't returning his calls. She wasn't at work. She didn't make her chemotherapy appointment. She had also forced her doctor to discharge her. It wasn't exactly something that I'd come across before. I didn't know what to do but I wanted to help.

"No." His tone was saturated by finality. It made me bite the inside of my cheek and stop the rambles of my inner monologue. When I looked over to meet Alex's eye, he was sighing, a look of defeat overcoming him. "Izzie left me a note... she doesn't want to see me..."

I frowned. That sounded rather sudden. Or maybe I just hadn't seen Alex and Izzie's marriage for what it truly had been.

I'd gotten the impression that they'd been happy together. 

The wedding had been beautiful. Izzie had been enthusiastic and Alex had even had some extra pep in his step. However, it could just be me— maybe I was so used to seeing broken marriages (Addison and Derek, Sam and Naomi, my parents etc) that I missed the warning signs.

Something about Alex Karev told me that he didn't appreciate the sympathy.

So I kept my lips locked.

"What do you want me to do?" I didn't beat around the bush. I kept level-headed and picked up the confidential papers off of the desk. Alex exhaled loudly.

"Leave me to deal with this." Reluctantly, I nodded. I wanted to help him but I understood. Although Izzie's recovery was partial my responsibility, it was now out of my hands. It had been from the moment Izzie and Gendall had signed these papers.

"Keep me updated." To my surprise, Alex nodded at me before he left.

He left me to stare after him, my mind lit in a vibrant swirl of chaos and anxiety.

***

Charlie arrived in Seattle that evening

He sent me a text message five minutes before I was due to clock out.

The end was in sight. 8 pm was just a few moments away. I could taste the freedom and the weekend on my tongue. I'd already planned some activities in advance, some things that I hadn't yet had the chance to do in Seattle. Charlie was particularly enthusiastic about the Pike Place Market and I'd already bought tickets for the Seattle Great Wheel.

But still, it was fifteen minutes away from me and the unlikeliest person had just walked through the door.

There was a curt knock that interrupted the flow of classical music. 

I called out a soft "come in!" without an upwards glance, but when I looked up eventually, I regretted it. I let out a breath, averting my attention away from the EEGs I'd been analysing. My pen dropped against the desk and I leant back in my chair.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Sheepishly, Mark gave me a grin. It was jauntier than I'd expected and I cocked my head to the side. He was dressed in casual clothing, the scrubs long gone. I recognised the t-shirt he was wearing under his jacket. There was an air of reluctance in the way he reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet.

Realisation clicked into place.

"Oh-oh-oh." I chuckled, interlacing my fingers like a mastermind in a James Bond movie. My eyes glittered as he tossed down a few ten-dollar bills. I hadn't been so happy to see Alexander Hamilton since my brief dabbles in American History in college. "So Derek's patient survived, huh?"

Mark had entered into a rather pessimistic wager. He'd bet thirty bucks that Derek would stumble. I'd stood beside Derek loyally. Maybe not all of their bad blood had cleared up so easily.

His smile turned sour. "Good for Isaac, bad for others."

"Nope." I denied, leaning forwards and counting the notes with a wide smirk. "Just bad for you."

"You always were lucky."

I rolled my eyes. "Someone's a bad loser."

Despite the irritated look in his eye, he let out a chuckle, shaking his head at me as I grabbed my purse- of which was already by my feet, ready for me to make a break for the door- and stowed the money away. 

I was almost expecting Mark to turn and leave, but when I straightened in my chair, he was sat opposite me, sitting pin-straight as if he was one of my patients waiting for their session to begin.

I glanced over towards my phone as it lit with a text from Charlie.

"Mark..."

"I want to talk." He said quickly, although there was a slight wariness in his voice. Intently, I gazed over at him, staring straight into his bright eyes. I almost expected him to hold up his hands in surrender, like a criminal caught in the act at the end of a gun.

"Talk?" I repeated, my eyes narrowing.

With Mark, talking never meant /talking/. In New York it had meant issues. It had meant he had something that he needed to get off of his chest. It wasn't a conversation, it was a TEDTalk.

"Yes, talk." Mark cleared his throat. 

Something about his behaviour just screamed discomfort. He wasn't thrilled to talk. I didn't quite blame him, last time he'd tried to talk I'd ran away from him and flipped him off.

To come to think of it, I was kind of like a startled animal. Whenever certain topics arose, I tended to bolt.

It wasn't discomfort. It was restlessness.

He eyed me as if he expected me to make a break for the door. He couldn't get comfortable because he was expecting to have to chase me down.

Instead, I crossed one leg over the other and muted my music.

"Go on." My mouth felt rather dry. "I'm listening."

Mark's eyebrows rose as if he hadn't quite been expecting that answer. Honestly, it had surprised me too. It'd slipped out subconsciously and I regretted it from the moment it reached my ears. Then I saw the way he let out a deep breath,

"I want to talk about New York." Fuck. "I've tried not to bring it up-"

Tried not to bring it up? Oh, the audacity.

"Right."

"I thought that between Archer's surgery and Addison...." It was my turn to appear uncomfortable. I shifted in the chair and averted my gaze as far as I could from Mark's face. His mouth turned down at the corners. "And then with George and the merger- I didn't think it would be the best time-"

If he'd asked me, I would have responded that there was never a good time to have the New York Talk.

"But.. I've been thinking-"

"Oh, that's never a good thing."

"I've been thinking..." Mark didn't appear to appreciate my comments. Unfortunately, I didn't really know what else to do. "That we need to just really put a clean slate between us- a truce if you'd like- and get this all over with..."

Every inch of my skin felt laboriously itchy. My arms crawled with goosebumps and my heart-beat thumped in my ears.

I honestly felt bad that I wasn't paying attention to him. The thing was, I just couldn't let myself listen to him. If I listened to Mark talk about what happened then I'd fall into the little dark abyss at the back of my head. So instead, I found myself studying my cuticles with a misplaced intensity.

A part of my brain was very impressed with Mark Sloan for the conversation he was attempting to have. If you'd told me that he'd attempt to have an adult discussion about feelings back then five years ago, I would have called you delusional and written a lengthy prescription. It was clearly taking a toll on him.

It also made me realised that I wasn't as squeaky clean as I'd liked to think. Talking about that sort of stuff was enough to break me out in hives.

"So, what do you think?"

He'd been talking. I'd just been staring silently.

"Uh," My head ricocheted upwards to look at the slowly unravelling expression on Mark's face. The longer I hesitated, the more pronounced the realisation in his eyes became. My resolution broke. With enough speed to give myself serious whiplash, I jumped to my feet, whipping my coat off of the back of the chair and grabbing my belongings. "I have to go."

"Beth-"

"I-I need to go-"

I bolted, just like Mark had anticipated. 

Even before I made it halfway to the door, I was bracing myself for what I knew was going to come next. If I knew Mark Sloan as well as he'd known I would leave, I knew that this had been something alike to the eye of the storm. I had a matter of seconds before this adult conversation became... louder.

One.

I reached out for the door handle.

Two.

I managed to manoeuvre it open.

Three.

"Fucking hell, Beth--"

Bingo.

He sounded pissed.

I really do know you inside out.

"I'm trying to be an adult here and you're really going to pull this shit on me-"

He was behind me in a matter of steps, catching the door as I attempted to flee. I let out an exasperated cry, my emotions flushing towards a more irritated and obvious agitation. 

Violently, I wheeled around just in time to see the red hue of Mark's face and the white sheen to his knuckles as they clutched the doorframe.

"I don't have time for your dramatic apology."

I didn't have the time to deal with this. I didn't have the patience. My cellphone lit up once again- it was 7:59pm and Charlie was asking me where I was, whether he should meet me outside the hospital or outside my apartment.

"You're unbelievable." There was something about Mark's voice that caused my chest to tighten and the air to leave my lungs. I glared up at him as he jabbed a finger in my direction. "I'm not the only one who fucked up in New York, Montgomery. I'm not the only one responsible what happened-"

"Oh of course," I took a moment to feign a look of momentary sympathy, pressing a hand to my chest. "Because I forced you to fuck Addison, didn't I?"

A vein throbbed in his neck. He scoffed angrily, shaking his head. "This is what I'm talking about-"

"Yeah, and this is what I'm talking about." I retorted with a snide smile. "What happened in New York is that you slept with my older sister for a good six months and decided to tear my whole family apart. I hate to break it you, Mark- but I don't think that's something you can just solve with a little heart-to-heart."

"That's not all that happened, Beth." He insisted, eyes narrowing into deadly slits. His muscles clenched as his voice raised. "The fact that you keep refusing to take responsibility for these things is so— so infuriating!"

"Huh, well all that comes to mind is your habit of sleeping whatever made eye contact with you." I shrugged nonchalantly and this only seemed to infuriate Mark further. "But go off I guess."

"Unbelievable- if you want to talk about infidelity- are we not going to even touch on Mark Gomez?"

I let out an incredulous laugh. "Are you fucking serious?!"

"Yeah, don't you remember the nurse you had sex with as revenge-- like some kid having a tantrum?"

"Do you really want to get me started?" I challenged him, dropping the door and stalking towards him. I squared up, my nostrils flaring. "Do you not want to mention the girls you'd brought back— because honest to god, give me a girls name for every letter of the alphabet and I'm sure I'd be able to find over 24--"

"You kept running off! How the hell was I supposed to do anything-"

"I'll start- A is for... oh yeah- Addison!"

I took great glee in the breath he took. It was long and angry and made me grin. I lifted my hand, ticking each name off on each finger.

"Again, stop trying to deflect the conversation for fuck sake-"

"Ooh, Amanda-"

"This is not helping, Little Montgomery."

"Wasn't there an Ashley? Or maybe a few Ashleys'- Oh, just wait till I get to B!"

"Fine- if you want to do this-"

"Alice-"

Mark's eyes were cruel. "Don't forget Amelia."

I faltered. He noticed. My chest seized and I found myself stepping backwards. Amelia. Amelia. Amelia. Amelia. Amelia-- Amy. 

Something seemed to snap in my chest. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed by the urge to leave, once again. The collar of my shirt felt too tight, my chest felt crushed. I took a few steps back.

Mark's face was a sight. The anger had faded in the seconds since the name had fallen past his lips. Now the storm-clouds rolled off of his handsome face, overwhelmed by a sudden look of guilt.

"Beth-"

"Wow, fuck you." My voice was bottomless.

He seemed to sense that he'd crossed a line, so when I turned to leave, he didn't stop me. I took off down the corridor, walking quick, my head reeling with what Mark had just revealed. I left him in the dust, leaving him with only the angry click of my heels as company. 

I didn't hang around for an explanation.

The burn of tears was something I'd associated with arguments with Mark, but the years since our last angry exchange had helped me build a pretty solid technique to avoiding a waterfall. I blinked quickly and made eye contact with Mable when I came across her.

"Hey-" She faltered, too, when she saw my facial expression. The happy look in her eye that had been warranted by the promise of a free weekend withered away and she glanced over my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I just want to get home," I said stiffly, running a hand through my hair. I stopped beside her, at the reception desk, where an employee rota hung just above the photocopier. Mable had been in the process of clocking out and I waited for her to finish with a restless foot.

As she stepped away from the machine and I stepped forwards, her face betrayed the lack of belief she had in my explanation. "You excited to see the boyfriend?"

I swallowed thickly as my eyes flickered down to my phone. My heart twisted.

"Of course." My voice sounded less enthusiastic than Mable had anticipated, causing a dent to appear between her eyebrows.

Shit, Mark really had tripped me up.

Mable opened her mouth to speak but she cut herself short, instead averting her attention elsewhere. 

She seemed to cock her head to the side, momentarily distracted- startled by her silence, I followed her gaze as I put my clock card back in its place.

She was staring at Mark as he ambled past, walking towards the elevator with effortless gravitas. Still suspended in my stupefied cloud, I watched him for a few moments, my mind submerged in the image of my best friend and my ex-boyfriend in various x-rated positions.

As if he could feel my gaze on him, Mark turned his head and met my gaze- we stared at each other for a while. Eventually, the burn of tears returned and I looked away quickly, brought back to reality by the feeling of Mable's hand on my arm.

"Let's take the stairs." She suggested as if she knew exactly what was happening. I barely replied, just let her lead me down the stairs and out of the same room as the man who was now, or once again, tormenting my thoughts.

It wasn't right.

Fuck you, Mark Sloan.