𝙓𝙓𝙓𝙄𝙓.
GRIEVE ME

──────

NEW YORK

"THE FUCKER STOOD me up," was my explanation for being late.

I stomped into the bar, throwing down my belongings onto the free chair, barely even sparing him a glance. I caught sight of myself in the mirror over his head; I couldn't tell whether it was sour mood, boiling temper or the mood lighting in this place, but I had a distinctive red tint to my skin. 

I scoffed, grabbing the drinks menu almost immediate to my collapse on the chair; across from me, Mark just cocked his head to the side.

"Good day, then?"

This had been his idea. Out of all of the months we'd been casually seeing each other, we'd never, apparently, gone out for drinks or spent any time outside together. 

He'd claimed that it was messing up his 'method' — I'd had to raise an eyebrow at that 'method'? — and despite me pointing out that I'd been vehemently drunk numerous times in front of him, he wouldn't take no for an answer. 

Apparently, Mark Sloan's method involved wooing someone over drinks. It was his idea to get together on a Friday night. My idea, on the other hand, had been to schedule a date with a ER nurse on the same night.

I was all dressed up for drinks on the other side of Manhattan, a classy espresso martini maybe, a something on the rocks? Instead, I was in one of the shadiest bars on the Lower East Side, a place which Mark swore was the best on the island. I felt oddly over dressed; my outfit was less indie bar chic and more lets have a business lunch— although I was showing a lot of cleavage. 

I leant back heavily in the chair, flicking through the menu with a sharp interest. Across from me, Mark just raised his eyebrows, nursing his scotch. 

I pressed my lips together shortly, not even realising that I hadn't answered his question. 

It was 11pm and my date had been at 8pm. I'd sat in the bar for an hour before just giving up and paying my tab with a fistful of sad, crumpled notes. The bartender had been sympathetic, although I was sure whether it was human decency or the large tip I'd left. It was getting harder and harder for me to understand human behaviour these days.

"What was his name again?" 

Mark, as always, was dressed neat. He was always neat. A neat fucking smart ass who tilted his head again as I ran my fingers through my hair. 

I was partially mad because I'd spent what felt like forever getting ready tonight. I'd curled my hair. I'd made an effort. I'd shaved my legs. I knew, from one look that Mark didn't have to spend forever to look that good.

"Ralph." I said shortly.

Just as I had for the past two hours, I pictured his face in my head. Very cute. Light hair. Strong jawline. He'd been very tongue-in-cheek and I'd been really into it. 

"ER nurse. Seemed like a nice guy until-" I checked the time on my phone. "Two hours ago."

"Ah." Mark tapped his finger against his glass as if struck by a sudden realisation, "The nice guys are the ones that you've got to look out for." 

He'd been quick in his reply but, without missing a beat, I snapped back.

"Good thing you're not nice then," I saluted him. His mouth twitched almost fondly. "Let me guess, you're too much of an asshole to stand a girl up?" 

Intently and with a slight smugness, I watched as Mark raised his glass to his lips.

"Something like that," was his way of shrugging it off. 

I opened my mouth to speak, about to announce that I was going to the bar, but was caught off-guard by a bartender. They placed a drink in front of me, clapping Mark on the shoulder as they passed. My face fell into a look of bewilderment. I blinked at it, almost expecting the glass to grow legs and sprint off of the table. Slowly, I returned my attention to Mark. 

He shrugged physically this time: "I, the asshole, went ahead and ordered when you called about being late."

I gingerly curled my fingers around the glass.

"Expresso martini?"

Mark just shrugged again.

I'd never been to this bar, but I got the impression that Mark came here often. He appeared extremely comfortable and people said 'hello' to him as they passed. 

A few even stopped to chat, pausing when they noticed me sat on the other side of the table. My attention was broken between my cocktail, the current conversation and the text conversation I was having with Addison. 

I was currently ranting about being stood up while stirring my martini, pausing to flash a smile at whoever it was that Mark was talking too. I must've looked weird, sitting there over-dressed and completely disassociating.

"It's weird," I began off-handedly once one of Mark's acquaintances left. The man of the hour looked over to me, eyebrows already raised in anticipation. "I've become a wine person— can you believe it? I'm becoming my mother."

He chuckled. "My mom was more of a champagne person."

"My mom was definitely a red wine person." All of my childhood memories of her involved red wine in some way. "Addison is too. I think it's almost a genetics thing."

"Huh, didn't come across that in medical school." Mark joked. I stared over at him for a few moments; there was something very slightly off about him. I frowned very slightly as I tried to place what was off. He was sat in his seat oddly, his posture was a bit off— "What?"

"Everything okay?" I asked very slowly, balancing my martini.

 Immediately, Mark shifted in his chair, sitting up straight and rubbing his bottom lip. ("Hmm?") My frown became more pronounced. 

"You seem..." I nibbled on my cheek, trying to search for a suitable word. "...distracted."

I'd never seen him so unsettled, not even when we'd been going through Petunia-gate and he'd literally broken out in hives around that woman. 

He attempted to play it off, just shrugging again and not saying anything further. I shook my head to myself, determined to redirect my attention back to my cocktail. If there's one thing I'd learnt about Mark is that he was impossible to figure out; he never spoke his mind, never voiced his feelings and never, never lets me understand things. 

It wasn't a surprise that he didn't want to respond to my concern. It wasn't very strong concern anyway, just the sort of concern that was enough to make Mark wary. He busied himself with the darts board that was beside us, offering me a dart. I rolled my eyes but got to my feet.

"I've never been in this bar before."

"No?" Mark didn't sound surprised. "I suppose it's not really your style?"

This caused me to raise an eyebrow. "Hm?"

He grinned crookedly and nodded towards the cocktail in my hand. "That was a special menu."

"It's pretty good," I admitted rather sheepishly.

 the admittance seemed to put a pep in Mark's step. I crossed my arms over my chest and watched as he threw his first dart. Another admittance: I knew absolutely nothing about darts. My high school boyfriend had been really into them but I'd always preferred beer pong or pool, I was better at those things. His second dart hit the dead centre of the board. 

My third admittance: "I've started going out with Amy, she knows a lot of places for good nights out."

It was said off-handedly. I hadn't admitted that to anyone.

Amelia Shepherd had become a black sheep in her family and I hadn't exactly rushed to tell Addison when Amy had texted me. She'd taken off into the night after her last release from rehab and hadn't been heard from in months; although, she'd reached out to me just as Derek was in full panic. As soon as I'd replied to the text ('Holy shit, are you okay?') she'd immediately phoned me— I'd left the room, saying that it was my roommate and then proceeded to pace the corridor. Amy's first move was to beg me not to tell anyone that she was back in New York. Once I'd very tentatively agreed, she told me that she forgave me for duping her into rehab all those years ago and that she was good now. In retrospect, I shouldn't have believed her.

"Amy?" Mark repeated, looking surprised. A look manifested in his light coloured eyes. It was my turn to throw; I tried to mimic Mark's posture and blindly aimed for the board. I scored, which I thought was a good start. Mark was keeping score. "You're talking to Amy?"

"Yeah." I shrugged. "She's nice."

"Amy's a drug addict."

"She's a nice recovered drug addict." 

My second dart didn't make it onto the board; it hit a faded poster for an underground concert in Brooklyn. Mark made a noise at the back of his throat although I wasn't sure whether it was a reaction to my throw or my words. 

"Her friends are also, actually, really friendly," I said, "They're involving me in their social plans. It's really nice of them."

He paused for a moment, staring at me as I took my last throw. When I looked back at him, he almost looked lost for words. Finally, he cleared his throat. 

"Her friends are..." Mark seemed to think about it, but then shook his head. "Not the sort of people that I'd expect you to hang out with— didn't you date that—"

"Guy from Brown?" I cut him off. "Yeah, Dan isn't a good example. He was a friend of a friend of hers. He's..." I just shook my head. "...Not a good example."

I couldn't remember when I found out that my ex had died. 

A drug overdose. A drug overdose? I couldn't remember whether I was surprised or not. When I thought about Dan the Brown student, I just thought of the drugs that seemed to live through him. 

We'd had wild sex on that cocaine but also wild arguments. It'd been messy and sloppy and in retrospect, I wonder if he'd known that he'd die from a drug overdose eventually. He'd been a college student who wasn't optimistic about the future. We'd shared a cigarette in bed once and I'd asked him what he wanted to do with his degree: "I don't know," he'd said and tapped the ash onto a half-dead plant beside his bed and that had been that. 

He hadn't had any vision and hadn't had any motivation to make one either. I'd dumped hiss ass and not thought twice. But then he was dead, not immediately, but suddenly. 

"And Amy's a good example?" Mark asked tepidly as if the youngest Shepherd was the closest thing to the devil he could find. 

I let out a long exasperated breath, letting him step forwards and expertly score. I wasn't an advocator for drugs by any means (and would never be, for that matter) but there was something in Mark's expression that made me want to defend Amy. 

Out of everyone the Montgomery/Shepherd family, it'd become clear that Amy was the only person who was willing to be non-judgemental when it came to me voicing my thoughts.

"Look, I'm not going to defend Amy's actions... but she's really improved." 

I didn't exactly know why I felt the need to justify my friendships to him, but I did. He stopped, looking over at me as he collected his darts.

"Okay." He said simply.

"Don't tell Derek," I said very quickly, "Don't tell him that I'm in contact with Amy, he'll murder me." A dent appeared between his eyebrows.

"He won't murder you..." Then Mark paused. He thought it over for a few moments. "He won't get away with it because Addison wouldn't help him hide the body."

"And you wouldn't?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. A beat passed and then a grin passed across his face.

"I wouldn't." He agreed.

"Wow." I blinked. "That's the nicest thing that anyone's ever said to me."

Mark just laughed.

***

SEATTLE

"How was your Christmas?"

Eli had a pep in his step. Of course he did. It was the post-Christmas I-have-a-healthy-family-that-I-can-spend-the-holiday-season-with pep. 

He leant against the desk I'd bagsied in the middle of the ER; I glanced over at him, pressing my lips together.

"Shit." 

The word felt final, definitive, yet Eli was far from satisfied. 

Shit was synonymous with Christmas for me. Shit was as natural as saying 'Merry' or 'Jolly'. The only nice Christmas' I'd had were ones I'd not been able to remember the morning after.

Eli raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk as he went through his patient chart. The days that he managed to talk his way into the pit were definitely wild days; he preferred it here, apparently, but the ICU was what 'his calling was'. 

Here, he considered it to be a vacation, a fast-paced and high-risk vacation. When I'd pointed out that vacations were supposed to be relaxing, he'd just rolled his eyes and likened it to skiing. ("You're telling me rich people go skiing because they're going to close their eyes the whole time?") I'd then had to evenly explain that despite my privileged up bring, no, I didn't know what skiing holidays were like. ("Maybe you'd actually like Christmas if Daddy had bought you a set of skis then?" With only affection, I'd flipped him off and called him a bitch.)

"Steady on Scrooge." He was smirking. 

I looked up from the computer and grimaced, already having been subjected to this attitude over the past fortnight. I thought that, seeing as though we were getting closer to New Years Eve, that I was in the clear, that I could be miserable and not be picked up on it... but no apparently.

"And how was your Christmas, Elijah?" His smirk withered a little bit as I used his full name but he didn't comment further— he just shook his head softly, rolling his eyes. I smiled. "Let me guess— you frolicked around in the snow... drank cocoa by the fire and listened to your Mom sing Christmas Caroles over the piano."

"It doesn't snow in Phoenix," was his reply.  "What did you get up to?"

"I ordered takeout and watched movies." My shrug was choppy and I had to clench my teeth as my ribs moved. "Uh... Derek invited me for the evening so I went over to his and had a mocktail..." I turned my head towards him. "Did you know that mocktails are even sadder at Christmas? Like honestly what is the point?"

"Not relapsing is the point." Eli pointed out wisely.

"Making Beth want to cry is apparently the point too." I ground my molars together in a way that my adolescent Orthodontist would have hated. My hand went to pull at the roots of my hair thoughtfully. "Oh, almost forgot— uh, on Christmas Eve... Charlie died."

Eli froze.

There was a brief pause in which I could see his cool and collected exterior falter. I'd said it so offhandedly, so casually that it had caught him completely off-guard. 

Of course it had, it had caught me completely unawares too. For a split second, his eyes shone with immense emotion for me. My stomach twisted. But the second passed, Eli thought about it some more and he blinked at me.

For a moment I felt it. 

The stress that I'd felt. 

The look of alarm on Arizona's face as she realised that something wasn't right. The amount of times I'd said it: Charlie was on that flight. Charlie was on that flight. Charlie was on that flight. Charlie might have been on that flight. 

We'd immediately hounded whoever we could find for more information, Arizona helping me until she'd been forced into the pit to the injured passengers. I'd spent a good amount of time trying to find out everything I could: 

Crap? It was a Boston flight? Holy shit? It was a Boston flight?!

"For how long?"

Eli looked at me, his voice oddly strained and his face oddly empty of emotion.

I tsked, the tip of my tongue hitting my front teeth. "Two hours."

He rolled his eyes.

"Charlie dead—" I cleared my throat. "Two hours— that's terrifying. I spent two hours trying to get a hold of his cellphone thinking that he'd been dropped out of the sky— going absolutely insane might I add. I finally managed to get through to his brother... and then Charlie wasn't dead... just finding my mental breakdown extremely funny." 

I spoke very quickly.

No, Charlie wasn't dead. 

In fact, his flight had been blissful and while I was panicking, he was literally having the time of his life. He'd gone for lunch with Andrew in Boston, leaving me just self-destructing on the other side of the country. 

He'd had drinks and had forgotten to text me to tell me that he'd landed okay.

"It's hilarious." Eli stated, thin-lipped and deadpan.

"Hilarious my ass." I said, returning to my typing. "It's a freak of nature. Two planes leaving for Boston— a half hour between them and the second one crashes in the middle of downtown?" I paused, feeling shivers going down my spine and my throat tighten. "It's my idea of a nightmare."

It had been an awful coincidence that had had me lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

I'd had a short but curt conversation with Charlie and then immediately spoken to Arizona: Charlie was fine, his plane had arrived in Boston without a hitch and his phone had died in between landing and getting across Chicago in the holiday traffic. He had put me on speaker and I'd asked Charlie what music he wanted played at his funeral.

"I'll get my suit steamed for the funeral." Eli continued.

"It's BYO alcohol at the wake." I flipped through the notes I'd been typing up, chewing on my bottom lip. "I'm getting fucked up."

He just rolled his eyes and then Arizona appeared.

The surgeon was hurrying along, her movements shadowed by a handful of interns. She shot me a crystalline smile, eyes latching onto the medical file that was sat beside me— she inclined her head towards a consultancy station and I nodded shortly, indicating that I would be there in a second. 

Swiftly, she disappeared into the busy ER, only leaving Lexie behind. The youngest Grey sister leant over the desk, asking the nurse on my left for some surgical notes. The nurse gave her a thumbs up and immediately began searching the system; as Lexie waited, she avoided my eye.

I was feeling conversational today. "Hey Lexie," My conversation with Eli had notably perked up my mood. "How was your Christmas?"

 Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eli shot me an odd look. For a moment, I thought that I'd said something out of turn: the surgical intern looked exasperated, pretending as if she hadn't heard me. She turned her head away from me. I returned Eli's look. 

"Hey—"

Lexie received the notes from the nurse that she'd been waiting for and, as soon as she had collected what she needed, turned on her heel. I sat there, minutely dumbfounded and in a serious need of an explanation. 

The expression on my face must have been loud and clear— Eli was shaking his head when I turned my head towards him.

"What have you done?" His question was ominous and my brow crinkled into a frown.

"I've done something?" My question was more on the stupefied side. My voice dropped to a low whine. "Why is it always me that's done something?"

"I don't know," Eli shrugged, tossing his pen into the holder by my elbow, "You're the one with the psychiatry degree... figure it out." 

I stared absently at him as he walked off, probably about to hop onto some incoming case. I had to give it to him, he was sure as hell a charmer.

I collected my papers and logged out of the computer, aware of the impending conversation I needed to have with Arizona. As I crossed over to the consultancy room, I caught the eye of Mark as he swanned by, a patient bed rattling along beside him. He briefly inclined his head in a hello, I just stared blankly back. 

It wasn't until I entered the consultancy room, met the anxious face of Arizona Robbins and slapped the medical files down onto the table, that it dawned on me that something really, really weird was going on.

"Did you update it?"

"Yes." I said, blinking as Arizona rifled through the folder. "Everything is electronic now. The report is fully on his file."

I'd spent the last fifteen minutes printing out all of the documents Katherine had emailed me (garnering a few dirty looks from the technicians who were having all their ink drained by a psychiatrist in the wrong department). 

I hadn't had time to finalise any of the documents; I'd been jumping around this afternoon, torn between a suicidal patient and an intern who needed help running a check up.

"And your conclusion?" She pressed her lips together, looking as if she knew what I was about to say before I even said it.

"I had Katherine supervise..." I scratched the gap in between my eyebrows, feeling very on edge. Petunia always had me on edge. "She agrees that there's something... something about that kid."

"Child Protective Services?"

"We can only tell them what we know." I said very softly. My nails trailed up and down my forearms as I struggled to piece my thoughts together. "Katherine is happy to take the lead on our end of the things... Remember Petunia can't know anything about this." 

Arizona nodded, staring down at the papers in front of her.

"What a poor tiny human." She murmured, flipping through the updated medical file. 

Arizona thanked me for my time and took off, clutching the file to her chest as if it was a scandalous top secret document. I watched her go, wondering how the whole situation was going to go. I'd had my fair share of confrontations with Petunia Vanderbilt and something told me that this confrontation was not going to go well. 

A little voice at the back of my head told me that I'd made a mistake getting involved; I did my best to shrug it off.

My phone buzzed as I left the trauma room. It was Charlie, he was having a wild time in Boston and was happy documenting every moment to me. I smiled to myself, tapping a reply— I didn't even notice the dark shadow of a disgruntled man at my shoulder.

"Charlie having a good time?"

 I hadn't seen Derek since Christmas. He made me jolt, I was caught off guard by the proximity between us; his face split into a grin but tension was buried in his eyes.

"He's having a great time." I corrected him, briefly scanning through the conversation I'd been having. Derek hummed lightly.

"Regretting not joining him?"

"And miss Christmas Day at Meredith's house?" I let out a laugh at my own words. I rolled my eyes. "If you must know— Yes, I do kind of regret it."

"Regret what?"

 Mark decided to insert himself into the conversation, materialising out of a trauma room in mid taking off his surgical gloves. I let out a loud breath, shaking my head in irritation. He looked between the two of us, eyebrows raised in anticipation.

"Beth was saying she regrets not going to Boston for Christmas."

"Beth hates Christmas." Mark scoffed, as if it was common knowledge. 

Without looking up from my phone, I pointed towards him as if to emphasise his point. He wasn't lying and it was very common knowledge. For weeks, people had been trying to get me into the holiday mood and I hadn't been having it at all. For a moment, Derek just looked exasperated, as if he was talking to two children. 

"But California was great," Mark added, "Thanks for asking."

He'd gotten a bit of a tan, which was the most Mark thing I'd ever come across. Of course, he goes to LA for his daughter to have a serious surgery and... still managed to find time to sunbathe. 

He looked in good health, he had a little pep in his step and seemed in a good mood. I was visibly unsurprised, Mark had always been happier single.

"Let me guess?" Derek leant against the nurses station as I shoved my phone into my pocket; we all attempted to look busy as Daphne swanned past. She eyed each of us sharply, almost suspiciously as if to ask why we weren't working. Mark pretended to be very concerned with taking off his second surgical glove. "The surgery went well?"

"Of course." Mark said, almost like a boast. "Us Sloans are resilient, no kid of mine is going down without a fight." I inwardly grimaced but adverted my attention when my phone buzzed again. Mark noticed, looking intrigued as I grimaced once again at the text message. "You're popular today."

"It's Charlie." Derek said simply. "Beth is feeling left out."

"I'm not." I denied. I wasn't. "Charlie's family is nice but not let's stay with them for two weeks nice. I would rather have the whole bed to myself and not be freezing because he always steals the comforter."

"That's not it." Derek's lip quirked and I was reminded of how he'd been when Charlie had left for Boston. He'd had the same glimmer in his eye, as if he knew something I didn't. I tilted my head to the side and raised my eyes. "That's not it and you know it."

Even Mark looked intrigued.

"Okay, then— pray tell Derek Shepherd, why didn't I go to Boston?"

Derek smiled, briefly glancing at Mark. "Because you thought he'd propose to you again."

Well shit.

A proposal was the sort of thing that had swum around my mind a few times. I could admit that. It was like the monster under my bed; it lurked around when my mind was quiet and had enough of a hold on me that my skin would start to perspire and I'd feel a little peaky. 

Could I imagine Charlie down on one knee in front of his family? Yes. Could I imagine how bitterly ironic a Christmas proposal would've been? Yes. Would I have said yes? Huh. Well.

"Again?" That seemed to be the stand out word in the sentence for my ex-boyfriend. His eyebrows were hitched so high up his forehead that they almost flew away into his hairline. "How many times has this guy proposed?"

I shot a look at Derek. The neurosurgeon just looked amused. "It doesn't matter— what does matter is that that was off the table. He knows that I would have denied a Christmas proposal— I'm not even religious—"

"What's so wrong about a Christmas proposal?" Mark was completely lost in the conversation. His eyes jumped between the two of us, seeming to be very confused. The look I sent him was scathing.

"Oh, I don't know— maybe the fact that my grandmother died on Christmas day and my parents divorced around Christmas so now the whole holiday just drains cheer and happiness out of my very soul?"

A pause.

Mark inclined his head, squinting slighlty, "I think you've mentioned that before—"

"I hope you're mentioning that you're busy." Mark swore under his breath, turning around to see Daphne. The head nurse looked at us each in turn, her lip curling slightly. Derek pretended to find something very interesting on the ceiling above us. "Doctor Shepherd there's a patient in Trauma Room 5 that needs a consult and Doctor Sloan you have a patient twenty minutes out..." The two surgeons nodded sharply. Eventually, Daphne's eyes fell on me. "Doctor Montgomery, are you still doing the notes for Robbins?"

I smiled sharply. "Just finishing up."

"Good." She eyed the computer that was still abandoned. I'd left my lanyard on the screen. We all seemed to pause as Derek lingered. Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Doctor Shepherd do you need anything?"

I bit back a laugh as my ex-brother-in-law silently pointed in the direction of Trauma Room 5, setting off suddenly for the awaiting consult. 

Mark attempted to play it cool, saying something very quickly about how he was going to go prepare the trauma room. I just smiled blissfully, only faltering when my cell phone vibrated again, making a very sad buzzing noise in the bowels of my pocket. 

After a few moments, Daphne seemed content— with a parting stare, she walked off.

"She terrifies me." Mark admitted after the coast was clear. I looked up from my cell phone, looking rather miffed. Daphne didn't terrify me, if anything she was someone I was in awe of.

"Always knew you couldn't handle strong women." My reply was almost too easy and it didn't impress him.

He scoffed. "I can handle anything."

"Mhmm."

"So, you're working with Arizona?" He continued, looking as though he wasn't in a hurry to prepare the trauma room at all. Instead, he leant against the desk and looked down at me as I snatched my lanyard off the screen, biting the inside of my cheek as his voice turned inquisitive. "Any particular case?"

Crap.

I flashed him a very professional smile. "I would tell you but then I'd be breaching patient-confidentiality, sorry." He raised an eyebrow. I had to change the subject somehow. "Oh— talking about cases. I had a very interesting conversation with Lexie earlier."

I didn't miss how he seemed to tense at the mention of her name.

"Really?"

"Yeah, she blanked me. It was completely one way."

 I didn't look at him as I spoke, just tapped a reply to one of Charlie's text messages. When I did look at him, however, he was grimacing, almost more than I had when the topic of Charlie had come into conversation. My sharp, bittersweet smile reappeared. 

"Is there anything I should be aware of after this conversation you had with her about me?"

"Not that I'm aware of." Mark scratched the back of his neck. Something about the way his face scrunched up told me otherwise. "I'll have a word with her."

"Don't worry." I shrugged, "I'll have a chat with her later. I'm sure we have a lot to talk about."

The parting smile Mark gave me was strange and I watched him go, my eyes drilling into his back. Something told me that Mark had done me dirty for the thousandth time. As problematic as I was, it wasn't always me who was misbehaving.

***

NEW YORK

Addison didn't look impressed.

I was wearing sunglasses at brunch. It was Sunday brunch, we were in Balthazar's and I was wearing sunglasses. 

I trudged from the door to the table and groaned on my way downwards to the seat. All the while, she was sat there, holding her morning cocktail with a perky lift to her shoulders.

Her other friends just raised eyebrows but nothing was said. Oh the scandal, the voice at the back of my head jeered, the scandal of Beth Montgomery arriving to Sunday brunch at Balthazar's hungover. 

As I ordered a Bloody Mary and a bagel, Addison's eyes were sharp and cutting— again, no one commented on the sunglasses. It was Balthazar's; there was no discourse over brunch, only cocktails. The bitching was left until at least after 1pm.

Today, however, Addison tried to make conversation. "Busy night?"

The sunglasses were doing a terrible job at helping my headache but a fantastic job at covering the surprise that flashed through my eyes. She sipped her cocktail and just simply blinked at me, in the way our mother used to do when she was beginning to get angry. 

But, reminiscent of that stilted old woman, Addison's voice was curt and stable. Our mother never raised her voice when she was angry.

"I was celebrating." I had been. 

We'd hit a few clubs and finished with beers in Central Park (I briefly checked my cell phone for the time) seven hours ago. 

I also might have snorted something questionable so the whole night mashed into a blank blur that was stirring into one hell of a migraine. 

By we I meant Amy and her friends. 

By celebrating I really meant celebrating.

"Oh yes." One of Addison's friends had too much energy. She was perkier, face bright and smile bleached. I didn't know her name although I supposed I'd been told it once. "Addie told us about match day, congratulations about getting Manhattan West!"

Her words seemed to echo around the table and my smile was oddly mechanical. 

One by one, an upper east side Stepford Wife congratulated me for my surgical internship placement that I'd received just before the weekend. My hangover had reached the level where my verbal abilities were limited, I just continued to smile very plasticly to a bunch of people who had never been genuine in their lives. 

Half of them didn't really know what a match day was, a handful of them being trophy wives who, despite being extremely beautiful and affluent to the New York social calendar, didn't understand what a surgical internship was at all. A few of them were surgeons themselves, friends dragged into this personally by Addie and speaking with a bit more warmth and indication of how big this was.

It was big. Match day was the most stressful day that I'd ever experienced. I'd spent the whole week breaking out into hives and taking melatonin to sleep properly. Every waking hour was spent thinking about whether I'd get my top choice for my surgical internship. Sure, I'd ranked my favourite at the top of my list, but had they ranked me highly?

"Who were you partying with?" Addison asked despite the topic being buried. 

I held my cocktail with one hand and pushed back my sunglasses with the other. The room was too light, too loud. I wanted to be in bed. She spoke nonchalantly but her eyes glittered.

"Friends." I shrugged. 

"Hmm," was Addison's reply. 

In Montgomery-speak, that translated to 'I can't believe you turned up to my brunch hung-fucking-over.' Hiding behind my sunglasses, I grimaced and figured that it was the weekend so it wouldn't hurt to drink more.

"Where's Derek?" I asked curtly even though I knew he never turned up to brunch. 

There was always a noticeable lack of male energy at the table, husbands were always invited but always seemed to worm their way out one way or another. Not that I blamed them though, Balthazar was nice. But, Balthazar with my sister and her Stepford wives clones was not.

"Working." She was tight-lipped. 

Inwardly, I smirked knowing that she'd avoid talking to me for the rest of the brunch.

My sister was very happy in her marriage, but I knew that happiness wasn't always permanent. She'd lamented about it over wine before: there was three people in her marriage, her, Derek and Derek's career. 

Of course, Addison was extremely career-driven and she probably loved her job more than she would ever love anything in the world. But, she also did things like move surgeries around so she could get coffee or make sure she had every Sunday morning off so she could have brunch at Balthazar's. 

Derek, on the other hand, would never dream of it and it had become a sore subject.

She sat at the head of the table, sat very stiffly and her purse and jacket over the back of her chair. Beside Addison, I just looked like a dark cloud. Black jeans, jumper that I'd bought just because I saw it on an episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. I pressed my lips against my chilled glass and inhaled very sharply— I could tell this was going to be a very long morning. 

Addison didn't meet my eye. Instead, I found myself perusing the table, looking up and down at the faces seated. Petunia was absent.

Addison had once asked why Petunia was so cagey around me. In the span of Mark breaking up with her and this current brunch, Petunia had completely dipped out of the Sunday tradition and it'd been another one of Addison's little problems. 

She was completely bewildered and blindsided by it all ("I don't know what I've done," Addie had lamented, forever thinking it was always her actions causing problems, "She won't return my calls.") In reality, I knew exactly why she didn't want to come to brunch, or at least had a sneaky suspicion. It seemed as though Petunia Vanderbilt was completely convinced that me and Mark were together— as if.

"I'm sorry I'm late—"

For a split second, I thought that my thoughts had summoned her out of thin air. I looked up with such abruptly that my sunglasses slipped and slid down my nose, subjecting my eyes to the glare of light. 

My head throbbed as I realised it was not, as I'd first thought, Petunia Vanderbilt, but instead her niece.

Margot looked out of place at the table. 

Her blonde hair was askew and she smiled bashfully, hugging her purse to her chest as she apologised profusely for her lateness. Compared to my trudge and reluctant sit, Margot was peppy and bright. Addison's face broke into a wide smile to accommodate her, the weight of our last conversation tumbling away. I recognised that face: it was her hostess face, always happy to overpower the little nagging voice at the back of her head which more often than not was me. I just slid a little lower in my chair.

My bagel arrived at I found myself picking at it like a petulant child. Margot looked excited to be here, she scooted her chair very close to the table, sitting at Addison's other side. I very briefly noticed that it was where Petunia would've usually sat. She even ordered the same cocktail: a cosmo, citing something off of the top of her head about Sex in the City. 

She greeted me with enthusiasm and all I could manage was a wry smile, stabbing my bagel with a fork. Addison just eyed me with distaste.

"I appreciate your apology," My sister's voice was warm but I didn't miss the subtle jab at me. I rolled my eyes but Addison didn't (or chose not to) notice. "It's nice for us to join us, I'm sure you're extremely busy—"

I was busy and yet I was still expected to turn up. 

I was starting a surgical internship tomorrow and here I was, waiting for Addison to dismiss me before I'd even properly settled down. I eyed the clock on my phone longingly, how I wished I was still in bed or at least doing the prep work that I needed to do.

"Thank you so much for inviting me," Margot clapped her hands together, beaming from ear-to-ear. I almost flinched at her tone, so much energy for a Sunday morning... too much energy for a Sunday morning. She had her hair in a ponytail at the top of her head and it bounced happily as she scooted forwards in her hair. "This is all exciting!"

"Isn't it?" I supplied, my mouth curling into a pathetically petty smile. 

I raised my cocktail and clinked it against Addisons that was now abandoned on the table. My sister watched with slight dismay as I then proceeded to drain the drink in one go. The other women at the table just avoided my eye.

"It was such a coincidence running into each other last night at the gala..." 

Margot continued, looking away from me and back to my sister. Gala? I tried to wrack my brain. Oh, yeah, the gala. An event that I had been invited to that... was last night? Oops. 

I ordered another cocktail as Addison nodded deeply, shooting me a look out of the corner of my eye. That explained the dirty looks.

Galas were the sort of shit that the rich liked to do just because they could. I couldn't remember which gala it was, or who was hosting it, but I was sure it was some flouncy event where Addison had worn a flouncy dress and Derek had done a flouncy bail into a surgery. 

She'd probably found someone else to go with and had spent the whole flouncy evening donating her flouncy money to some flouncy charity the host had literally picked out of a flouncy hat. I didn't like to go to galas but Margot seemed to like them just fine.

"Beth, I didn't see you there last night." I smiled stiffly as Margot's attention twisted around to me. Bless her, she was new to this scene. "I'm sorry if I missed you, there was a lot of people..."

"Oh, I was tied up with something important."

 Addison's face twisted very subtly at my answer and I watched her closely. Idly, I wondered whether Addie wished that I was more like this bubbly blonde and less like, well, me. I supposed that I had Margot's enthusiasm once, but this city and this social scene had torn it to pieces. 

I decided to lay it on thick. "It broke my heart to not be able to come but I tried everything to get out of it—"

"Beth just recently got matched with her surgical internship." As if she couldn't stomach any more of it, Addison interjected. S

he inhaled sharply through her nose and nursed her cocktail. Addison hardly ever ordered food at brunch, she was forever just a cocktails and aperitif person.

"Oh!" Margot exclaimed. "Congratulations!" She seemed genuinely happy for me, unlike the others at the table. "Who did you get?"

"Manhattan West." I said, pausing to thank the waiter as they delivered my second Bloody Mary. "I'm starting tomorrow actually."

"That's so exciting." I got the feeling that exciting was Margot's favourite word. "I've heard such good things about that hospital. It must be so cool to be finally getting to what you want to do, huh?"

I nodded.

Brunch was uneventful other than that mostly. 

Addison and Margot discussed last night's gala in length, talking about some people schmoozed with, conversations they'd dappled in. 

Apparently, one of the women on the table had had the most outrageous conversation with the Mayor of New York's wife and the hors d'oeuvres had been a little on the dry side. By the end of brunch I'd mentally retreated into a stalemate. It was 1:30pm and one of Addison's friends was shit-talking some poor Saks employee and conversation had officially reached the utterly boring threshold.

"You must extend my love to your Aunt," Addison said as we all prepared to pay the bill. I passed my debit card to the waiter and noticed the cute little line of platinum cards that were lined on the side of bill. My debit card looked noticeably less flash. "I did try to invite her this morning..."

"She's a little held up at the moment," Margot replied, and for the first time, there was a crease at the corner of her mouth. "She's not in the city much, I was surprised that she wasn't at the event last night."

I listened closely and made a mental note to tell Mark that later. We were supposed to be meeting for drinks again and he'd be delighted to know that Manhattan was Petunia-less. 

I ran my hand through my hair and finished my third cocktail, grimacing when I thought about how much this brunch was going to end up costing me. But my thoughts were suddenly derailed when a face appeared at the foot of the table; my brow crinkled and Addison seemed to falter as well.

Mark was there, as if he'd been summoned by my train of thought. He was walking towards the table, the brunch table that was always abandoned by the male species as if it was some sort of virus. He was chatting to the waiter as they escorted him and we all seemed to notice him before he noticed us. I leant forwards in my chair, not quite knowing what was going on— from the look on Addison's face she'd been caught off-guard too.

"Mark?" She raised her voice slightly and the plastic surgeon spotted her, grinning charismatically in the dumb stupid handsome way he always managed to do. 

He came to a stop at the opposite end of the table, wringing his hands as the middle aged women around him began to fawn over his good looks. At this moment, the waiter appeared and tried to give Addison the final bill; I took it instead as Addie was distracted, leafing through the papers to make sure that everyone (particularly me) had paid the right amount.

"Good morning ladies." His voice was smooth. 

I often joked that he practiced his smirk and simper in the mirror. He didn't find it very funny, probably because it was true. A few of the women made a passing comment about how he should join them for a post-brunch coffee. 

Mark chuckled. "I'm just a chauffeur for today, wish I could stay but we've got places to be—"

I raised my head, slightly confused. 

I squinted through my sunglasses at him, half expecting to meet his eye. But he was smiling down the table, definitely not at me. I followed his gaze to see a certain blonde gathering her things and getting to her feet. I found myself grinding my teeth very slightly, my grip tightened on the bill.

"Thank you for the invitation, Addie." 

Addison raised from her chair and they kissed the air. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, getting a cheerful wave from my childhood best friend as she shrugged on her blazer. My sister looked distinctively pale in the face, seeming to understand what was going on. I just watched from afar, not quite sure what to make of this. 

Margot took her time, saying good-byes and nice-to-meet-yous up and down the table. Eventually, she stood beside Mark and he very politely took her bag. Her smile turned bashful.

"Excuse me, m'am." The waiter appeared again and this time, someone was looking at me. He spoke loudly and I jumped slightly in my chair. "The bill needs a signature."

I felt eyes on me as I realised that I was still clutching the papers. He held out a pen to me and I quickly scribbled a signature on the dotted line, passing it back over. When I turned back to the table, Mark was staring at me. 

Despite my hangover's protest, I pushed my sunglasses up my head— yeah, you asshole, it's me.

Margot was obvious to everything as she left with the infamous Mark Sloan, player of women and man whore supreme. 

Meanwhile, I was just musing over how eventful tonight was going to be, especially when I wasn't going to be there when he turned up to meet me at the bar.

***

SEATTLE

"Hey, Little Grey."

Lexie flinched as I appeared beside her.

She was in the canteen, queuing very patiently in the line behind a handful of medical technicians. It was off-peak and the canteen was reasonably quiet. 

A few surgical interns meandered at the back of the room, none that I particularly recognised. I couldn't help but notice the muscle jump in her jaw as I grabbed a tray and joined her. I waited patiently, waited for her to turn around and acknowledge me but that time never came. 

Mark's ex-girlfriend just paid for her food and went to sit down as far away from me as humanly possible; exhaling in a huff that could defeat all huffs, I abandoned my lunch tray.

When Lexie looked up from rummaging in her bag, she was startled at the sight of me sat opposite her.

"This is harassment." Was the first thing she said to me.

"No, this is a conversation." Was the third thing I'd said to her (the first that was answered) today. "I think you might have forgotten how those work."

I'd seen her a handful of times today between work and consultations. Every time, I'd approached her she'd instantly taken off in the opposite direction, fleeing quicker than rats leaving the titanic. She'd ignored any attempt I'd had to talk to her and she'd even shut a elevator prematurely on me, leaving me to take the stairs. 

Mark had been in the vicinity a few times; he'd caught the look on my face and noticed Lexie's sudden absence and joined the dots. Every time, he looked very vaguely guilty.

"What the fuck have you done?" I'd asked him and he'd just turned away very quickly.

"I'm not in the mood." Lexie said to me now, dedicating her attention to her lunch. She'd grabbed a sandwich and an apple. Her eyes refused to budge from the food in front of her. "Can you please leave me alone."

"No." I said very simply. "Not until you tell me what Mark has said about me."

"Can't you just ask him?" Her tone was weird and she was still avoiding my eye. She grasped her sandwich very tightly and I crossed my ankles, trying to sense what was going on in her little head. I'd never seen her so... angry? Usually, Lexie Grey was a very subdued little thing, only driven when it came to her career. Now, she was notably red in the face and her knuckles were turning white.

"Nope." I popped the 'p', moving uncomfortably on my chair.

I didn't like that there was tension. My head was rushing with the possibilities. God, Mark is a bastard— I hated that Lexie was avoiding me, refusing to even look at me. I'd noticed her weird behaviour over the past couple of weeks, it'd all been after he'd confessed to me that they'd had a discussion about it and then broken up. 

There was that thought at the back of my head, that stupid thought that I really don't need to explain because everyone knows exactly what that thought is. A single possibility that I couldn't even dwell on without wanting to skin myself alive.

Meredith had commented on it very briefly. "Did you upset Lexie?"

 I'd very hesitantly said 'no' and she'd shrugged, her mouth in a frown.

 "There's something weird going on."

It was weird. It was fucking weird. 

Lexie was distinctively stand-offish. Her face twisted and she finally looked at me.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Look," I pressed my palm into the table. "Mark said that he spoke to you about me, which could mean a whole array of different things and now you're acting as if I've... killed your pet or something... Lexie.." I forced her to look at me again, searching her face for some sort of sign. "Do you have a problem with me?"

Lexie seemed to fall silent for a long time, as if she was asking herself the same question. Her eyes went back to probing her lunch and she frowned, doe eyes growing stormy. I could feel my skin crawl. A question bounced across my head. Why was she hesitating, why couldn't she just say no? Had Mark made me into some sort of monster?

Her head was churning as well, I could sense it. Her lips were pursed as if she knew that the moment she opened them, words would just come tumbling out. Her face was pale and she was gripping the table so tightly––

"Mark loved you." She said finally, clearing her throat. It looked as though it pained her to say those words. "You and Mark dated for a long time and everyone knew but me."

Oh.

...

Oh fuck.

...

"I'm sorry," I said genuinely. "It wasn't my place to tell you."

Lexie squeezed her eyes shut. "I thought we were friends."

I felt guilt pool at the bottom of my stomach. 

Mark had asked me very adamantly not to tell Lexie anything and like a dumb bitch I'd listened to him and now Lexie was upset with me. I opened my mouth to tell her that Mark was an asshole anyway and we were both better off without him but Lexie started speaking and the bottom of my stomach was suddenly churning. 

I felt vomit curdle through me and my blood freeze into icy shards.

"You treated him so terribly, Beth." I blinked. "You were so cruel and so unkind and I don't even know how to look at you—"

"Wait, what?"

"I couldn't believe what he said. I really couldn't." 

She sounded angry. She sounded hateful. She met my eye and I saw pain, but not for herself, but for the man that had shattered me into tiny pieces. I found myself unable to breathe. 

"But then what that lady said in that room— about you killing someone." Lexie Grey shook her head quickly, "I-I-"

I felt like vomiting.

"He told me all the things you did... All of the things you said to him and all of the times you'd destroyed him. He loved you so much and all you did was break his heart."

The world seemed to move in slow motion.

 I found myself staring at her, not able to speak, just watching the words stream out of her lips. Lexie was heated, angry, vengeful about the man she'd loved. She was staring at me, drilling her eyes into my soul. I felt as though I was back in that room with Petunia, worked into a corner and being skinned alive.

"And he told me about the drugs and the drinking and the suspension and your medical license being taken away. He told me about the cheating and the fighting and the broken furniture—"

My attention slipped and slid. Tears burned the back of my eyes as I struggled to keep up with her words. There was so many of them. 

Drugs. Drinking. Suspension. Revoked. Cheating. Fighting. Broken Furniture. The Time He'd Broken His Hand. The Time I'd Thrown A Plate. The Time I'd Thrown His Stuff Into The Street. The Time I'd Slept With A Nurse. The Time I'd Slept With A Anaesthesiologist. All Of Those Times I'd Gone Through His Phone. The Time I'd Threatened To End It All If He Left Me. The Time I'd Actually Tried to End It All And He'd Had to Help Save My Life. 

They felt like shitty F.R.I.E.N.D.S episode titles, all welling up like acid reflux in my chest.

"You told him he'd be a terrible father," She said and I had a feeling that that had been what had triggered their conversation. "And now he's a mess... all because you sent him up for failure. It's disgusting and it's not right—"

My lips felt numb. "Lexie-"

"No." She shook her head. "Don't speak, please. I've spent the past two weeks really struggling to even figure out why the hell you have a job in a hospital. You..."

She hated me. Mark had told her things that I'd done and it had been enough for her to hate me. I pressed my lips together, feeling everything tremor. It wasn't like I could straight up deny all of the things she'd listed. 

Those things really had happened, I wasn't proud of them. I'd been a psycho-bitch and it was enough for Lexie Grey to despise me.

"Lexie." My voice was cracked from the restraint not to cry. I took a deep breath. "Lexie please- you need to understand—"

"What I don't understand..." Lexie's eyes reached a new scathing depth. She exhaled loudly, angrily, her teeth grinding and head shaking softly. "Is that he doesn't hate you, instead he's friendly with you and he's acting as if nothing ever happened—"

"He wanted a truce." I sounded pathetic.

"A truce?" She scoffed at that. "If I was him... I'd hate you."

She said it with such conviction that I recoiled, my jaw going slack. Hate.

"Does Charlie know?" The mention of Charlie made me want to sob. Charlie, Charlie, my too-good-for-me Charlie. In this context, I hated his name. He didn't deserve to be associated with Lexie's perception of me. "Does Charlie know everything you did to Mark? How you ruined his life for such a long time?"

Shame and mortification. Those were the two emotions that slinked into my veins.

"Of course he doesn't," Lexie deduced from the way I bowed my head and stayed silent. "How dare you— how dare come here and worm your way into Mark's life. He's happy here. He's a good damn father."

"You don't know what you're talking about." I found my voice again. It was small and it was locked at the back of my throat. I sounded as if I'd never quit smoking. It was old and croaky and pathetically weak. A tear threatened to spill. Lexie's nostrils flared. "This whole thing— my relationship with Mark, he's only told you what he wants you to know-"

"All I know is that you..." Her voice cracked and she sounded sad. She sounded deeply sad and despaired. "You're here and Mark may pretend that he's fine but he does not want you in Seattle. I don't think you belong here, Beth."

"I'm not here to cause trouble—"

"I think you're here because you can't stay away." Lexie said very firmly. "Because you can't leave Mark alone."

That, I knew wasn't true. "No."

"The messed up thing is... sometimes I think Mark wants you too." She sounded jealous. She loved him and I still wasn't sure why they'd broken up. I inhaled sharply, my eyes raising up my forehead. Lexie laughed to herself, throwing her hair over her shoulder and blinking back tears. "He said your name when we had sex— not once but a few times— imagine, not knowing that your boyfriend is still hung up over an ex from ten years ago."

I didn't know how to process that. But there was one thing I did know:

"Lexie, I don't want Mark."

"Do whatever. I don't care," She fumed insistently, "J-Just leave me alone— and if you had a heart, you'd leave him alone too."

And then Lexie was gone.

***

NEW YORK

"You didn't show up."

Mark was standing in my doorway. 

He leant against the door as if he owned the place. He stared at me with those vibrant blue eyes and I felt something in my chest twitch. I had a glass of wine in my hand and a perfectly put together deadpan on my face. Meanwhile, he was smirking at me as if he knew very well that he was in the doghouse and that he was going to very much enjoy his time inside.

I just sipped from my wine glass, speaking nonchalantly, "Show up to what?"

He cracked a grin that was crooked and extremely sexy. 

A chuckle escaped his lips and, as if I knew that he was going to come in the apartment anyway, I stepped back and let him saunter his way across the threshold. He was dressed as if he'd just come from the bar, which, I didn't doubt her did. 

I, on the other hand, was wearing my dressing gown and looked as though I'd had no intention of setting foot outside. Mark had caught on quickly.

He leant against the back of my couch and looked me up and down.

"How was brunch?" My eye twitched.

"Shit." I kissed my teeth, closing my apartment door and doing a rather dramatic walk into the kitchenette. Mark followed on my heel; I found a glass in the cabinet and poured him some of the wine I'd picked up on the way back from said brunch. "A weird man gatecrashed it."

When I turned to pass it to him, Mark was looking at me with a dark glimmer in his eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah." His fingers brushed mine and I felt my breathing hitch. I took a few steps backwards, putting considerably distance between us. "He didn't look like a customer. A bit rough, really. Probably homeless."

"Shame." A smirk played at the corner of his lips. "I hear they'll let anyone into Balthazar's these days."

I cocked my hip to the side and we were just staring at each other, our backs against cabinets, opposite each other in the kitchenette of my Manhattan apartment. Mark didn't drink his wine (I'd finish it later) and instead just ran his free hand up and down my cabinets. I watched them go, his fingers tracing the lines of the fixtures.

"How was Margot?" Nonchalance.

He tilted his head to the side. "Good." His eyes travelled, wandering over my shoulder and towards whatever cabinet I was leant against. He seemed to test the surface beside him, rubbing his palm back and forth. "She's very perky, full of energy that one."

"It'll be her genetics." I swished a mouthful of wine like mouthwash before I continued. "After all, you've met her Aunt Petunia. Dare I say they're all just... teeming with life."

Mark seemed to chew the inside of his cheek. 

He was restraining another grin, I could tell from the way his eyes crinkled slightly. It was either that or his thoughts were amusing him. Gently, I lifted myself up onto the counter, allowing my legs to dangle out between us. I was wedged in between the sink and the wall but still managed to retain some sort of grace. Slowly, Mark edged towards me.

"How's Ralph, the mysterious disappearing date?" His question was perfectly innocent but my eye twitched again.

"Funny thing," I cleared my throat. "I had a chat with him the other day— great guy. Turns out someone paid him to stand me up."

"Did they now?"

"Yeah," My gaze became reproachful. "Apparently $100 is enough to crumble a girls self-esteem."

Briefly, my eyes closed. Ralph had been apologetic. He'd figured that I was in some messy relationship or had a vengeful ex that he didn't want to get involved with. 

Apparently, I wasn't worth the hardship. He'd taken the money and he'd turned off his phone to avoid my calls. I felt my chest tighten at the thought of it. Someone had a lot of explaining to do.

Mark was stood closer to me now. His hands were hovering over my thighs. When I opened my eyes, I was barely even startled by the proximity. I'd began to develop the uncanny ability to sense him, like some fucked up spider sense. He gazed at me with an emotion that made me want to claw his body into ribbons.

"I'm worth $100?" My question wasn't as innocent.

Gently, Mark shook his head. "No."

"$100?" I repeated, my voice extremely soft. "You paid him to stand me up— that's a dick move."

"It is," I didn't expect him to agree with me. My brow descended into a frown and I went to speak, but he cut me off. "So is double booking dates."

"Excuse me?"

"Your date with Ralph." His voice was very quiet and his face was very tender. My gaze bounced from eye to eye, searching for something that would give-away something. I needed something. Something to stop me from spinning off into space. Marks hands very softly danced over my thighs. I stiffened under his touch. "You agreed to a date with him even though you already had one with me."

"A date?" I repeated. I was getting tired of repeating things. I was caught off-guard. "That was a date?"

"Mhmm." He hummed, his face was close to mine now. I felt his breath on my face.

"Mark." His name caught at the back of my throat. It was raw, almost vulnerable. "You don't date."

His gaze was scathing. 

Mark was the only person who looked at me and seemed to be able to know everything. It was as if he was able to unravel me into little coded pieces that only he understood. He smiled. He was stood in between my legs and I felt as though I was hallucinating.

"That was a date." It was his turn to repeat me. "I asked you out on a date."

A date. A date. A date. I couldn't remember him ever saying that it was a date.

 Although, then again, I couldn't remember him saying that it wasn't a date. All I knew was that this was Mark Sloan and, as he'd told me many times before, Mark Sloan did not, under any circumstances, date. I stared at him for a long while.

"Look," Mark's voice grew softer. "I haven't dated since High School."

"Dated?" I repeated.

His smile turned slightly bashful. "Dated." He confirmed.

"Dated." I felt as though I needed to cement it in my brain.

 So much was happening and I heavily regretted opening that bottle of wine. I'd drank a lot of alcohol in the past 24 hours— maybe that's what this was. I was still drunk. I was drunkenly hallucinating this all.

No. The feeling of Mark in front of me, the way that my chest seemed to stutter and tear was definitely real. His hands on my thighs was definitely real. The soft look on his face... that was real.

"You want to date." I was slow. I was effectively miles behind. Mark chuckled as I tried to keep up.

He nodded. "I do." My heart did a weird fluttery thing. "I want to date you."

It was easy to say that I'd never anticipated this conversation. 

This conversation had never been on the table. Where had this been years ago when I'd been on the verge of being in love with him, hoping that he'd decide that no-strings wasn't cutting it anymore. I pressed my lips together and let out a breathy laugh.

"What about Margot?"

"I was being petty." He said, rolling his eyes at his own antics. "She's a nice girl... but she's not you." It was as if he'd learnt the lines from a RomCom. "I know you're mad at me... but I was... I was hoping that we could make up."

"Make up?" I asked softly. "What did you have in mind?" 

I pressed a hand to his chest and gently pushed him backwards. I watched as his face scrunched up in confusion and a hint of panic as he figured that this was a grand rejection.

But then I undid my dressing gown. His eyebrows raised. He seemed to choke slightly on his breath and his face went red. I grinned, finishing off my glass of wine and dropping down off of the counter. When I faced him, Mark looked extremely flustered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I mean..." He trailed off, eyes flickering between my clothing and the look in my eye. "It's not too far off actually."

"Mmm?" I walked towards him and pressed my hand back up against his chest. "Not too far off?"

His words were choked. "Yeah, I mean-"

"Don't you have something to ask me first?"

For a moment, I thought that Mark had completely forgotten what we'd been talking about. There was another flash of panic; shit, I could almost hear him saying, what question? But then it clicked. A very small and vulnerable smile appeared across his handsome face and I found myself loving the way his hand gently pulled mine from his chest.

"I'm not good at this." It was the first time he'd ever admitted a fault in himself. He took a deep breath and I tilted my head to the side, tempted to press a kiss to the back of his hand as it cradled mine. "But I'm willing to give it a go."

"Good." I said breathily. "Me too."

"Okay then." He suddenly looked very nervous. "I guess— then-" It was amusing, I'd never seen him so mortified. I wondered whether this was what teenage Mark had looked like, the football quarterback struggling to ask a girl to prom. His eyes avoided mine. "Would you like to date?"

My heart swelled.

"I guess."

Mark stared at me for a couple of beats.

His eyebrows rose. "You guess?"

"Mhmm."

"You guess?" He repeated as if he couldn't believe it. I chuckled, putting my arms around his neck and staring at him with all of the adoration I could possibly fit into one single look. I played with the hair at the top of his neck. "Look at me— I'm a god. You don't just say I guess."

"Fine—" He was so dumb. "Of course I'll date you, asshole."

Mark smiled. It was a wide happy smile that made me feel gooey inside.

"Good."

"Good."

Then we were kissing and we were kissing and we were kissing and I was on the counter again and there was a mess of limbs in the kitchenette. 

The morning after, my roommate would return from a Europe trip to find the whole apartment a mess and a note in the middle of the dining table.

It'd say Sorry and have a fifty dollar note for a brunch at Balthazar.