𝙓𝙓𝙓.
FROM THE DINING TABLE

──────

SEATTLE

CHARLIE WAS A nice guy.

He was truly a well rounded, too pure for his own good, could not hurt a fly, nice guy.

He stood there in the doorway, holding Lexie's apple pie, barely faltering as he realised who it was who he'd just let through the door. He hadn't realised until it was too late; I stared from the far corner, mouth turned down at the edges as I watched the man I'd dragged so selfishly into this mess.

There was a numbness in me as Eli cradled my bleeding finger.

He pressed the towel onto my outstretched hand tightly, the two of us completely distracted by the two surprise guests as they walked across my apartment and towards the other dinner guests.

When I glanced back at Eli, he looked as though he was ready to set this whole building alight. His eyes crackled with energy when he met my gaze.

"Mark." From Derek's tone, I could tell that he was as baffled as we were. "It's a surprise to see you."

My eyes strayed back to Charlie and they stayed glued to him as he closed the apartment door, expertly balancing the pie in his hands.

I could tell he was as miffed as the rest of us. He was in the dark about Mark, it was a topic that I hadn't really touched on since his first night in Seattle— my stomach twisted.

Selfish.

"I thought you had surgery?" Callie, too, seemed hesitant and not at all thrilled by her best friends appearance. She could tell that it spelt trouble.

The only one who was not at all troubled by the whole thing was Lexie- she smiled serenely and looked around at everyone, only coming to an awkward halt as she looked for somewhere to sit.

Meanwhile, Eli had located the plasters (with no help from a mute and terribly angry me) and was in the process of hurriedly bandaging me up.

Mable watched the drama unfold with hungry eyes and Bateman- well, the great Kyle Bateman just looked bored.

"Yeah, the guy died," He shrugged indifferently as if to say 'what can you do about it?' and Charlie looked, for the hundredth time, as though he was second-guessing letting Mark in through the door.

I pressed my lips together and swallowed sourly.

Please kick him out, please kick him out, please kick him out.

Everyone fell silent for an awkward moment, everyone feeling it except Lexie, forever oblivious to what Mark hadn't told her.

If Charlie was in the dark, Lexie was lost in the dark— from what I'd heard from Derek, Lexie didn't even know that Mark and I had been good friends once upon a time. I switched my gaze to the petite brunette literally a few seconds before Charlie seemed to kickstart himself.

He hurried towards us, his face breaking out into a stellar smile that I'm sure his mother had taught him. He excused himself politely but carried their attention with him.

For a second, Mark seemed to pause too, as if he'd momentarily forgot that this was my apartment and my boyfriend- his head followed Charlie's nervous frogmarch and his eyes eventually sought me out.

A seething figure, washing my dried blood off of my finger underneath the faucet. I met his gaze head-on, narrowing my eyes. To my left, I could see Eli grow uncomfortable, the sort of angry uncomfortable that buried under your skin and blotched bright and raging on your face.

I thought I'd made it clear to him that he was not welcome.

Once Charlie was in front of me, I snapped into action.

"Are you sure you mind him being here?"

I had a momentary stubbornness that had Eli miffed- he shot me a look over Charlie's shoulder.

This wasn't my evening to control. It was all up to Charlie now; even though we both knew that Mark would be gone if I said anything.

Say no. I begged him silently with my eyes. Be selfish like me for a change. Be jealous and kick him out of the apartment. Kick his ass like Archer would've done.

"Beth..."

His face contorted slightly and I caught a glimpse of discomfort underneath Charlie's perfect facade. My eyebrows knitted together and I reached out for his arm, squeezing it tightly.

"What is he doing here?"

I glanced over his shoulder, back to the dinner table, where Derek had strung Mark along into an awkward but seemingly steady conversation. Lexie was talking to Mable, surprisingly, and her sister, looking very happy and excited to be here. She was bright and animated and just the image of everyone together made the backs of my eyes burn.

"His girlfriend is Meredith's sister... they live in the apartment next door..." Charlie's eyebrows cocked at that and I saw him bite into his cheek, a movement that I'd only ever seen him do a few times. It always signified something dark and twisty. My grasp became tighter. "I invited Lexie but not him- I'm sorry I was going to tell you-"

I shouldn't have invited Lexie.

Fuck—

Here we were, about to serve the main course to a table of guests including my ex.

Not only my ex but the ex that Charlie had heard so many brilliant things about- from not only me but Calum too (although to be fair, Calum had always had a thing against Mark anyway, something about a wager gone wrong and Calum being cheated out of money).

"I'll talk to him," I said quickly, noticing how Charlie seemed to take a long time thinking over things.

I'll talk to him and he'll leave and then we'll be fine. That's the solution I worked over in my head. Over Charlie's shoulder, Eli nodded and gave me a thumbs up- wow, I'd offered a sensible resolution, that didn't happen often.

"No." I was caught off-guard by Charlie's response. He finally placed down Lexie's pie and shook his head, face softening. "I'd be a terrible psychiatrist if I agreed with making him leave."

Again, I was caught aback. Tentatively, I let go of his arm, frowning. I took a few little steps back— in the background, Eli's face contorted incredulously.

"You're not my doctor."

Charlie realised what he'd implied and he scrambled a quick reply: "No, no- sorry- that's not what I meant." He looked really sad as he took in my expression. "I meant- you and I both know that just throwing Mark Sloan away isn't going to help you heal."

I blinked a few times.

There it was- the brutally raw vulnerability that Charlie always seemed to draw out of me. It made the whole of my body ache.

Heal- I didn't like that word. It suggests that there was a wound- a vulnerability in the first place.

"If you can do it, I can do it too." Charlie closed the steps in between us, stared deep into my eyes. My throat felt very dry at the intimacy. "Don't let him ruin tonight, Beth."

A moment that truly felt like forever passed. I pursed my lips and let my eyes wander over Charlie's other shoulder, back towards the dinner party.

The conversation was slowly but surely picking up again after the intrusion. Lexie was happily chatting away with her sister. Mark, on the other hand, kept glancing over at us through his conversation with Derek, as if he knew that we were talking about him. On a rather lucky glance on his part, he caught my eye.

"What will it be?" Charlie asked me quietly. "If you want me to ask him to leave, I'll do it."

My attention fluttered back to my boyfriend. It was a cruel twist for Mark to turn up, uninvited and for Charlie to be so welcoming and open to strangers to invite him in despite everything.

He seemed to second-guess his decision even further as it took me a hot minute to respond: his mouth drooped at the corners like a dying flower and his eyes pinged back and forth, searching my face for some kind of giveaway about what I was thinking.

I was thinking about how much I hated how fucking weak I felt and wondering who it was that made me feel that way.

"If you're not comfortable-"

My answer came in a rush of air: "No, it's fine." Eli's eyes were the size of saucers, shining over Charlie's shoulder with a thousand unsaid comments. "He can stay."

"You sure?"

"Mhmm."

Charlie seemed to blanch at that response, the same ever-so blasé but unhinged response that I'd given him this morning. After a quick check of the timer, he was buzzing around my finger, forever the worrier.

"I'm proud of you, B." He gave me a smile that was all teeth. "Now, all I need are some pointers on how to handle this-"

"I don't know, bond?" I replied vaguely, brow scrunching. Not too closely, I added mentally. In the background, Eli snorted.

"Over what?" His musings were delicate, slightly distracted. I shrugged wordlessly, but when I turned back around, there was a mischievous look in his eye. "Our taste in women?"

I was impressed with his joke but let out a long breath of air to camouflage it. I rolled my eyes at him, finding it suddenly extremely hard to swallow. My chest felt soft and mushy.

My throat felt uncomfortably tight. "Go back to your guests, babe."

He did a quick salute, grinning widely, moving past the hiccup in the ambience. "Yes, chef."

As soon as he was gone, I shoved Lexie's apple pie in Eli's direction and turned around, hands bracing either side of the sink.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Eli examining the store-bought pie, all while opening his mouth to say something.

"Shut up." I interrupted before he'd even spoken.

His nose wrinkled. "I didn't say anything."

"I could feel the sarcastic comment brewing." I turned my head towards him, spying the pout that weighed heavily on his bottom lip. "As much as I love your little moments of comic relief... I don't think nows the time."

"I was just going to say that all you've done is take the plates away and put them in the sink," Eli mumbled to himself like a child who'd just been told off. "You're barely a fucking chef, loverboy did all the work."

I let out a laugh, one that was too loud and too unhinged for the moment- Eli flinched at it, his face scrunching.

My mouth closed instantly and I straightened, hands coming up to massage my face.

My return to the table was uneventful. Charlie had juggled some chairs around and, reading my mind as always, had placed Mark and Lexie at a respectable distance from us.

To Mables' delight, Mark took her seat, placing him shoulder-to-shoulder with a mildly disgruntled Bateman and she sat in between Eli and me, not quite able to reach the table but still noticeably happier than before.

"That man is a mess." She stage-whispered once the main course had been served. She framed her words with venomous glances over at the madman. "He won't shut up about the traffic on the way here- it's a joke. We came straight from work. It took us ten minutes at the most-- two just to cross that road."

I just sighed, looking over at my ex-professor, wondering, for the thousandth time what the hell he was doing in Seattle. It was awfully weird for him to turn up here, of all places.

But he was the sort of guy who didn't have ulterior motives, that just did as he pleased and scoffed at the thought of fate and signed everything off as coincidence.

Once we were all seated and glasses were refilled, Teddy seemed eager to discuss our relief work. She spoke with enthusiasm that was reciprocated by Charlie; he launched into a recount of all of the trips he'd embarked on.

Forest fires in Greece. The cyclone in Myanmar.

He'd travelled across the globe doing trauma counselling and triaging.

"Yes, you always were good at psychiatry," Bateman said suddenly, completely interrupting Teddy as she asked further questions.

The blonde just halted completely, turning to face the psychiatrist with a frown on her face.

Beside me, Mable muttered something that suspiciously sounded like "Oh here we go."

On my other side, Charlie beamed and raised his glass. "Not without the help of a great teacher."  

Mable leant into me, her voice dropping into undertone. "I take what I said earlier back- if the guy likes Bateman then he's delusional. I say pass on the proposal."

I just rolled my eyes and drank my lemonade, forever wishing it was something stronger.

"I have never taught someone as affluent as the Perkins brothers," Bateman continued, lifting his eyes to stare over at Charlie. He smiled his little drunk (I'd lost count on how much he'd managed to chug in the last hour or so) and unfocused smile. "Talent like I'd never seen in this boy right here."

I moved in my seat, one side to the other, readjusting my posture. This conversation brought back memories of Boston, of my first few terms. I'd been terrified to return to American education, so out of place in the sea of heads.

"What about Beth?" My eyes fluttered over to Derek as he grinned broadly. Bateman seemed to look at me strangely as if he'd only just realised I was there. "Was she a prize student?"

"Oh, Lizzie," Bateman replied after a long beat. "She was alright."

I managed a small smile, briefly closing my eyes and shaking my head to myself. Bateman didn't seem to notice but everyone else did.

Again, Mable leant towards me and deadpanned in a low voice.

"I think we should've all been like Helen and skipped."

I frowned. "Helen's not here because her cat got hit by a car."

Mable rolled her eyes. "She doesn't even have a cat and she got childcare for tonight- I think she picked up an extra shift instead."

Eli elbowed her in the stomach.

"So you have medical training?" It fell to Owen to try and put the conversation back on track.

He spoke while chewing on one of Charlie's prize burgers, looking as though he was pleasantly surprised by the cooking.

"Yeah, we both do." Charlie smiled over at me and he pressed his hand onto mine. My free hand found its way to my glass and I took a long mouthful, silently wishing that I'd been delusional enough to sneak some wine. "Original plan was to do surgery. But plans change..." He let out a low laugh, shaking his head at himself. It was echoed around the table. "I did joint honours in psychology in college so I picked that back up and went back to college on Kyle's programme."

Kyle. He called Bateman 'Kyle'.

"You could've been working with me," Arizona chirped and Callie and I both exchanged a look.

Charlie's charm was working maybe a little too well with her.

"Just like Beth," Derek said, bypassing Arizona's comment. I chuckled, the sound catching at the back of my throat as I met my ex-brother-in-laws eyes. He seemed to stare at me for a while. "You wanted to go into Paeds? If I remember rightly."

I'd changed my mind on what area of surgery I'd wanted to go into a thousand times. One week it'd be cardio, the next it would be oncology, then orthopaedics, trauma, urology and onwards— I'd never been able to pin it down until finally, I'd just blurted it out a week before my intern exams.

"Yeah," I nodded, holding onto my glass like a lifeline. "That was the goal."

"So, you finished your qualification?"

"Yes." My answer was a little too quick. "But I don't have a surgical license. As you guys have probably noticed my coat says P.A, not M.D. I won't be picking up a scalpel anytime soon."

Derek seemed to pause for a second, his eyes shifting slightly. But then he nodded, dismissing whatever thought that was pestering. "I'm proud of you, Beth."

My answer was a small, slightly strained simper.

"Owen mentioned about Domiz?" Teddy continued the conversation topic, barely even batting an eyelash. The man in question leant forwards, showing his interest in the conversation too. However, Cristina just looked bored. She was stabbing at her burger, seated beside Meredith and looking very stony in the face. "How long were you out there?"

"Three weeks, I flew out with the military."

"What about you, Charlie?"

"Oh, no- I wasn't brave enough for that."

"What is Domiz?" Meredith asked, her brow furrowed as she looked between the three of us.

I shifted uncomfortably at the question; Domiz was one of the sort of places that I didn't like to think about. It was one of the periods of my life that I didn't regret nor cherish. It kind of lingered in a grey area designed to creep up on me in my dreams.

"It's a refugee camp not far from where we were deployed," Owen answered for me. "When were you there?"

I wrinkled my nose, trying my best to remember. "April? Only last year. I went straight from that into trauma in Florida, right?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Charlie nod. "Yeah, you barely even had time to unpack." He chuckled and I looked over at him, flashing a genuine smile as the memories floated back to me. "You had to work with Andrew on that one because I had to fly out to a flash-flood recovery in Belize."

"Wait-"

Derek cut us off, looking rather incredulous as he tried to place it all.

For a split second, I'd forgotten that everyone was here. I'd been too caught up in thoughts tied to Andrew Perkins bunking with me in a low-budget hotel in Miami. We'd been employed by a business who was recuperating after a deadly mass shooting. It'd been a painstaking process, but we'd managed to do private counselling and get them all back on their feet. I'd lamented about it on the phone with Charlie; a month with his older brother in a pretty shitty hotel hadn't been the greatest time of my life.

"You were in a war zone?"

Derek's eyes were set on me, his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. A chuckle was passed between Teddy and Owen, they shot me a knowing look. When I nodded, quirking an eyebrow at his shock.

"Jesus—"

I chanced a look at Mark, a stupidly irresponsible glance that had my throat painfully tight.

At his side, Lexie was following the conversation avidly, interest shining bright in her eyes, ears perking at our every word. Mark, on the other hand, was gazing down at his dessert, ever so often throwing a rogue glance up the table towards us.

I couldn't quite read his expression from this angle.

"Yeah," I said, letting out a laugh that was too loud for the conversation. "It was a bit of a rogue move as far as Andrew was concerned."

I reached over my finger only just about glazing Charlie's half-full glass of alcoholic cider. I sighed when I realised I needed a refill.

"So how does your job work, exactly?" Meredith folded her hands under her chin, cocking her head to the side as Charlie took the reigns.

"Well, my brother opened up a firm of sorts, it kind of works the same as a law firm. We're all employed under it and the company is hired by different people to come in and help with crisis counselling." Charlie pitched the whole concept as a spokesperson. "We just help with recovery and the healing process."

I blanched at that word. Healing. There it was again.

"Can I just quickly ask where the restroom is?"

Charlie looked down the table at Mark for a few moments, having been cut off from a prolonged pause between either half of his little work speech. I glanced between the two of them, noticing how Charlie seemed to not appreciate being cut off so abruptly.

"Uh, it's through the bedroom at the back."

As much as I disliked the thought of Mark being able to snoop around my bedroom alone, I knew there was no way I could refuse him entry to the toilet. Mark flashed me a brief smile and got to his feet, exiting the table. I watched him go, my forehead creasing as the door closed behind him.

"Anyway, so we also..."

Charlie was passionate about his job and it showed. I watched the enthusiasm and drive on his face with a little grin, feeling my heart melt.

It wasn't often that people found careers that truly filled them with joy, but Charlie had. I couldn't help but lean over and squeeze his hand; he looked at me and beamed, bright and pristine.

He was going on about our international work, on how we had to partner with charities to get enough funding to go abroad.

I offered a little bit of information on the work we'd done in Indonesia- had flown out with the humanitarian team and helped with first aid and crisis centres. The whole time, Charlie held my hand.

I liked that part of the job. What Charlie and Andrew referred to as the field jobs, where you had to think on your feet and make quick and rash decisions.

I liked doing the hands-on work, the running around in the face of trauma, learning languages rapidly and running whole medical centres with doctors from all over the world.

The rest of it sucked.

The travelling. The flights. The parts that weren't administering first aid or yelling incoherently over busy emergency centres. I'd never envisioned myself in an office job and half the time that's what it felt like.

But I'd never told Charlie that.

My train of thought was halted abruptly as Mable leant forwards in between Eli and I, her eyes fixed on the table. "Hey, Sloan's Grey, can you pass me the coleslaw?"

We all parted out of the way of Lexie as she attempted to ferry over the bowl of coleslaw.

The tiny brunette leant over as far as she could to pass it to Eli and almost got there— but she just happened to clip his glass of red wine, the beverage tumbling to one side.

I.E. On top of me.

My chair screamed against the floor as I shoved backwards, away from the table, eyes wide as I stared down at my shirt. I'd just happened to pick out a nice very white and clean shirt and cigarette trouser combo. Now, said very white and clean combo was not very white and clean.

"Ah shit."

"Oh my god," Lexie's eyes went round with alarm, mouth gaping as I got to my feet. I waved her guilt and apologies off as Charlie quickly handed me a towel. Today just didn't seem to be my day. "I am so, so sorry-"

Dabbing at the mess of my outfit seemed futile. "This is pointless- I'm just gonna-"

I excused myself from the table, throwing everyone a slightly strenuous smile (all while firmly telling Lexie it was okay) and did an odd waddle towards my bedroom.

I could feel the wine soaking through the leg of my pants and actually dripping down my leg. So much for shopping on a budget, the fabric was thin and if I didn't know better I would've said that the wine had down to the bone. There was no saving these, I could already tell.

With an exasperated huff, I powered my way into my closet, stripping off my ruined pants and giving myself a rather half-hearted wipe down with the towel (yes, it happened to be the same towel that was already pox-marked with my blood from earlier).

The stench of wine overwhelmed me.

Good lord.

The scent of it gathered at the back of my throat, something too familiar, too welcome- I gagged slightly, just out of impulse from my brain.

No, I told myself firmly. Today isn't that bad.

The pants looked sad on my comforter. The towel looked even worse and I absently wondered what Carrie from the movie had looked like after her clean up. I managed to fish out a pair of formal, black pants from my closet and shrugged them on instead.

Then onto the shirt.

I was in the process of removing said shirt when I heard a door open. Through a mouthful of my own hair as my shirt went up, over my head, I had a very evident 'oh shit' moment.

"I like the tattoo."

Fuck.

I almost didn't want to take my shirt off of my head.

But I did.

I yanked it over my head and stared over at Mark as he stood in the doorway of my bathroom, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk on his lips.

He looked very amused, seeming to enjoy this a lot more than I was. I cleared my throat and tossed my shirt onto my bed, smiling one of those awkward smiles that people do when they can't think of anything else to do.

Here I was, stood in my bra (which honestly was a nice bra so really this wasn't as bad as it could've been) staring at Mark Sloan as he stared unapologetically at my breasts. Or rather, what was underneath it.

I flinched. Full-on body flinch, as if I'd just been doused with scalding hot water.

"You're a creep."

There was no sense of accusation in my words. I just stated plain facts. He didn't reply to that, just shrugged vaguely, not budging from the doorway.

"Who'd you kill?" He jerked his head in the direction of my deserted clothes, which yes, did look as though they'd just (barely) survived a slasher movie.

"Let's just say it wasn't the intended target." A light chuckle fell through his lips as my eyes narrowed at him. I just scowled softly as I dove back into my closet, attempting to find a new shirt for my impromptu outfit. "Your girlfriend spilt wine all over me. I have to say, it's an interesting thirteenth step that I haven't come across before."

Mark cleared his throat. "Was it Merlot?'

"Thank god no," I said, not looking back at him as I raked through my hangers. "It was just a cheap Shiraz, Eli bought it with him and he doesn't really splash the cash on his bottles. I'm lucky my best friend is a cheapskate otherwise I'd be on the floor under the table out there trying to drink it out of the floorboards with a straw."

He let out a low whistle. "Now that brings back memories."

I exited the closet with a crimson shirt tossed over me, a silk blouse that I'd gotten back in Toronto. Mark fell silent as I tossed the hanger onto my bed and met his eye, mouth falling into a strict line.

"Charlie told me not to yell at you," I told him curtly.

"And you've done a great job, Lizzie."

Fucker. "You're making it hard, creeper."

"There'd be something wrong with me if I didn't."

I stared at him for a while but had to look away as I just seemed to get too angry. Every time I blinked I envisioned what he'd said to me: him and Amy, skin against skin, writhing— fuck, that'd gotten under my skin.

With a slightly raised blood pressure, I powered my way to the makeshift dresser I'd made in the corner. It was covered in an ambiguous mess of belongings, a quarter Charlie's, three-quarters mine. I stared at myself in the accompanying mirror long and hard.

Mark didn't seem to budge.

"What are you doing?"

"Your tattoo says baby."

"Yes, it does." My skin itched uncomfortably and I refused to look away from my reflection.

Grimly, I watched my face try hard not to give away how my brain was in full panic mode. I regulated my breathing through my nose and dropped my attention to my perfumes.

"You hate the word baby."

His statements were so plain, said so matter-of-fact that I could feel my temper doubling, tripling. He was getting under my skin very slowly, gradually, with intent to harm, no doubt. My head snapped around to glower at him as I picked out a perfume.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Mark?"

He abandoned his post at the doorway and padded forwards, arms falling to sway at his sides.

For a moment, his face scrunched uptight, as if he was trying to think of an answer that wouldn't make me angrier than I already was.

"Lexie dragged me along."

"I mean, what are you doing in here?"

"I went to the toilet-"

"No, I mean here, Mark, now- watching me get dressed like some fucking weird-"

"I want to apologise."

I fell silent, my eyes pricking at that little trait he'd picked up now. Apologies, sorry's, regret, guilt— gosh, my stomach churned and he took my silence as an advantage.

He kept his distance but continued.

"For what I said on Friday..."

Watching Mark Sloan apologise was a strange phenomenon. Idly, while watching his lips form every word, I wondered whether this is how the person who had seen the human heart in-action for the first time had felt. Uncomfortable, caught off-guard but completely stunned and in awe.

It felt like a moment that I should take a photo of or filmed/recorded so I could play it over and over just to remind myself that it existed. He stood with such an uncharacteristic discomfort to himself that I gently twisted a stretch of skin on my forearm.

Ow. Definitely not a dream.

"...About Amy." He was awkwardly holding onto my stunned silence, having to kick himself into filling it with choppy, lingering sentences. "It was really unfair for me to just spring that on you..."

Another beat passed.

"Are you okay?" He asked hesitantly, brow furrowing.

I blinked at that. Now that was almost more surprising than the actual apology. Usually, he was angry with me. Now, he just looked a mixture of amused and vaguely concerned.

"I think I'm drunk," I muttered. "I think I'm drunk off of wine fumes."

I'd preferred it if  I was drunk. People didn't seem to like Drunk Beth a lot but I think she handled things really well. Or at least, from what  I'd heard about her.

Mark rolled his eyes. "At least give me a bit of credit, Montgomery."

It was then that he turned to leave; but before he could make it to the door, I took a few steps towards him, closing the gap. Numbly, I caught his arm, forcing him to stop.

"Wait, wait, wait-" His face was apprehensive and slightly stormy as he faced me. Ah, yes, there it was, the Mark Sloan I knew. It seemed to be just subdued slightly underneath the surface. "You're apologising?"

My voice was straight up incredulous, the anger dissipated and scepticism at an all-time high. His eyebrows came down hard over his eyes and he frowned at me.

"Yeah, that's what 'I apologise' usually means."

"But you- you've apologised to me twice in what? A month?" I couldn't quite wrap my head around what was up with him. He just stared at me silently, not quite even knowing how to respond. I laughed, the same loud and unhinged sound from before. "What's going on?"

He didn't respond, just rolled his eyes again.

I shook my head, taking a few steps backwards, giggling as I did so. I was uncomfortable. Too uncomfortable. "No, seriously? What's going on?'

"Nothing's going on."

"Something has to be going on!" I insisted. "Never, after knowing you for nearly twenty years have you apologised to anyone about anything- god forbid me!"

"I acted unfairly."

"You acted normally." I shrugged.

"It was rude-"

"Are you dying?" The thought just struck me out of nowhere, I found myself shocked with my own mind. "Is this what it is? Are you trying to make peace with everyone before you kick the bucket?"

"No."

"Did Lexie put you up to this?" That was the most tangible reason I'd come up with so far. The other theories involved alien abduction, drug addiction and some sort of gang activity, but they really lacked a basis of realism. A pat on the back was in order. "Oh my god- she totally did, didn't she-"

"No. Beth-"

"What about-"

"No."

"Then why?" My voice cracked a little tiny bit as I frowned.

"I just-"

Mark cut himself off. He'd worn back down into the Mark I recognised. A guy that was on the edge and was unable to stand still.

Before, his little mechanical "It was unfair... it was rude" was reading too rehearsed circa Charlie's work speech for me to comprehend.

"I meant what I said on Friday about the truce."

Ah.

A clean slate. What I'd labelled a dramatic apology and what had ended in a blazing row, as every conversation reminiscing on us seemed to.

I pressed my lips tightly together, shifting my gaze elsewhere.

My carpet looked very interesting right now- oh, look's like I'll have to hoover tomorrow.

"Beth?"

"Shh.."

He scowled at me. "Did you just shush me?"

"No," I deadpanned. "I just invited you to my bar-mitzvah- yes, of course, I shushed you. You talk too much."

Mark exhaled loudly and I knew what it signalled. Storm clouds were gathering and we were set for a very frank and quickly incoming forecast. One blazing row, two very ruined dinner courses and one very upset Charlie Perkins...

I pressed my fingers to my face. Oh! Imagine it, a clean slate. A board wiped clean. A world in which Beth and Mark didn't mean 'Oh, you've invited that couple- really?' Or, in Arizona's eyes, 'doomed love.' The prospect of it felt too good to be true.

You and I both know that just throwing Mark Sloan away isn't going to help you heal. Charlie's voice flooded through my brain.

Maybe not heal (that fucking word will break me out in hives, I swear) but it would make my life here a lot damn easier.

"Deal."

"Huh?"

Mark seemed to be too caught up in the cyclone of his own head that he didn't quite catch my little proclamation.

I sighed and repeated it, holding out a slightly wobbly hand.

He faltered for a second and then took it.

Our hands lingered in each others grasp before we shook them.

"Do you remember at that speed dating event?" He said suddenly, once our hands were our own and I was dousing myself in more and more perfume- anything to get away the smell of Shiraz and the fiery thirst at the pit of my stomach, "The one back in Manhattan... in like... 1994–?"

"Yeah." I mumbled, my head flicking back to better times.

God, if I'd known back then that I was living the better times I would've probably just ended it all.

He raised his hand out again in a shake.

Mark's lips twitched. "Hi, I'm Mark Sloan."

I paused, my perfume bottle stranded in mid air. My eyes dubiously flickered from his outstretched hand back to his intent eyes. I left him hanging for too long, he retracted it slowly.

"I just thought-"

"I'm Elizabeth." I replied quietly, placing my perfume bottle down and wrinkling my nose. Definitely overdid it. "Friends call me Beth. Strangers too."

"Okay."

"Great." I mumbled. I checked my reflection as Mark went to open the door. Then a thunderous thought hit me, an impulse so strong that I almost toppled over in urgency- "Wait! Before you leave, I have a question-"

"Only if I can do one in return." Mark bargained, suddenly looking very mischievous. That made me falter. My stare was a prolonged debate of pros and cons.

Fuck it- this is important.

"Deal." I was saying that too often lately.

"About Amelia-" He tensed at the subject and I couldn't blame him. My stomach lurched at the mere thought of it all. I swallowed thickly. "The whole, uh, sex thing- was it while we were together?"

Mark subjected me to a long calculating pause that only did damage to my blood pressure. It was long enough to be an answer in its own right; I got the message loud and clear, looking away and nodding tersely. Okay.

"Yes." He said finally, even though he didn't need to. I pushed my hair behind my ear and exhaled loudly. "But we were both really, really drunk-"

"Wasn't everyone?" I joked, although it read as a humourless and slightly bitter remark mostly at myself. Mark inhaled through his teeth sharply and cocked his head as if to agree. I'd made things weird— I shrugged it off. "So, what's your question?"

He laughed at himself, a smirk unfolding across his lips.

"Did you get your breasts done abroad?" Oh of course. Cheeky fucker. "Because those are honestly a piece of art- they look very natural and minimal scarring really. But they just look... nicer-"

"Okay, that's enough heart-to-heart time-" I cut him off, shaking my head and almost laughing at his audacity. This time, I was the one who made it to the door first. I opened it and stared at him as he frogmarched past.

For a split second, while his back was turned, my hand dropped to my abdomen and my panic shone through again.

Thank god I'd been wearing high-waisted pants otherwise he would've had an inkling towards the surgery I'd actually gotten.