❛ 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 . . . ❜
015. sympathy for the devil
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NEW YORK. . . ❜

She had to give it to Mark, really.

He really was a specific flavour of asshole.

Apparently, the sort of asshole that thought she deserved a grade.

She'd been good in school, had always excelled in her subjects out of a hunger to learn things. Her goal at every turn had been to kick the shit out of the high expectations Bizzy had set out for her–– in retrospect, she'd think it was funny.

Her idea of teenage rebellion had been to bum cigarettes as she did her math homework three weeks in advance. Addison's had been wearing last season Dior.

But, this wasn't a math test. This wasn't the quadratic equation or long division––

This was the Mark Sloan seal of approval and Beth had scored a C-.

(A C-? A fucking C-? Beth had never been given a C- in her life. It didn't satisfy her, even when paired with the condescending glimmer in that man's eyes. She was an overachiever, through and through, and she'd scoffed at it, shaking her head against Addison's earnest, folded brow.)

Mark had given feedback too:

Nice girl, He'd said to Addison in Beth's absence as the redhead tried to grasp some semblance of how the suicide mission had gone, Nice girl and all... but a little too high strung.

(Oh, that MotherFucker.)

In return, Beth had ordered another Mimosa over brunch as Addison relayed it all, tossing her hair over her shoulder and trying her best not to say every insult under the sun. Her feedback had been perfectly fair, given the circumstance:

Not a nice guy, had been her commentary on the night, Ungraded and fucking ungrateful.

It was needless to say that Addison had taken Beth's side on this one.

Really, Beth wasn't sure what her sister had expected. The night, naturally, had been a shitshow.

She'd teetered around the room full of research executives on her own, holding a flute of champagne so tightly it had almost snapped in between her precarious manicure. The only time her head had turned had been to watch Mark from across the room as he did exactly what she'd told him not to––

She wondered whether it was worth it.

Had it been worth it? To hit on every leggy socialite in the room and make everyone squint at the woman who had arrived with him?

Mark had humiliated her in a way that Beth hadn't quite been able to process. Instead of interest about her and her prospects as a surgeon, Beth had been met with concern; the wife of the Chief of Surgery at Tisch had touched her arm lightly, a comforting gesture that made a sour, almost metallic taste swamp Beth's mouth.

"Oh honey," The woman had said, head tilted to the side and lips pulled into a frown, "You deserve so much better."

But Beth hadn't believed her. Why would she?

She'd been able to see those edges and corners that that frown hadn't been able to hide–– she'd been able to tell in that woman's eyes that the comfort was completely genuine. There was no sympathy for the date of the devil, not tonight.

Naive, her eyes had said as Beth had tried to drink enough champagne to make her forget the whole affair, Stupid little girl. Why expect anything different from a man like Mark Sloan?

Yeah, C- my fucking ass.

But Mark didn't need her, he'd made that very clear. She didn't speak to him after they'd stood on the curb, back where the evening had begun and Beth was drunk enough to call him for what he was––

Manwhore, she'd said. It wasn't an accusation, it was a confrontation.

Pushover, Mark had chuckled in return.

And then he'd gone home with some woman or some man, Beth wasn't sure and she didn't really care–– either way, she wasn't needed for the next event. The social season had only just started and Mark was done with her.

After scuffing the bottom of her Kate Spade heels across shining socialite floors for three hours, she was cast aside and Mark moved on.

Apparently, she was too judgy, she was too controlling.

Apparently, he hadn't appreciated how she'd approached him like he was a job to her, a task–– Beth refused to apologise for not falling at Mark Sloan's feet.

So, she stopped going to the fortnightly meet ups at the bars and tried networking on her terms: far away from a man that would make people squint at her and cock their head to the side, questioning if the man with his hand on another woman's ass really was her boyfriend.

(All Beth had been able to do was give in response was a very strained smile, silently begging her eye to not twitch.)

The further problem she found, however, was that she couldn't get into the events she needed. She found herself facing more closed doors than open. She didn't have the connections she'd wanted to make, didn't have the invitations or the respect.

Sure, she was a Montgomery but she was a kid sister. She was a woman. She was the sort of medical student that made them roll their eyes and ask, with a sigh, if she wasn't a little too young for a big room like this?

"I'm sorry," Addison had talked expressively with her hand, lips downturned as she apologised over sunday brunch. "I'm trying to get you into these things, Beth... You know I am..."

"I need to make some sort of impression on people," Beth hadn't been able to eat anything, just stared and tried to speak to her sister with as much conviction as she could, "Addie, this isn't working... I need to get ahead of the curve... I need to get into these events––"

"You've got Bellevue," She said, "I managed to get you into Bellevue, okay? It's a good start––"

"Tisch thinks I'm a joke––"

"They don't think you're a joke––"

"They think I'm some naive patsy," Beth said, desperate to make someone understand, "They think I can be walked over–– Addie, I was stood there talking up Mark like I was giving a character witness and he was on the other side of the room with his hand on some woman's ass––"

"Okay," Addison had sighed it out, "Okay... We'll figure it out."

But, Beth had to say, that she hadn't expected figuring it out to go quite like this––

Mark Sloan didn't need her, he'd made that explicitly clear.

So, why was he standing outside her apartment building with a bunch of flowers?

Oh.

She'd been on her way out of the door when she'd found him, looking up the front steps as her whole body froze. Half-turned, foot holding open the security door as she waited for Calum, chin tilted downwards as she searched for her lipgloss in her clutch. She was dressed for the Bellevue gala, ready to social network on her own terms, and then Mark spoke:

"Hi."

It startled her.

"Jesus fucking Chri––"

She jumped, a hand leaping to clutch at her chest as she realised he was there. Her heart beat wildly against her palm. Eyes straining through the mid-evening din and through a light rainfall. At first, she thought the man standing beneath her was a bad hallucination, a side effect of the fumes that rumbled up from the subway under them–– but No, there he was––

"Hi," He repeated, more hesitantly than the first time.

Beth just stared at him.

She didn't realise he even knew where she lived. This was a far cry away from his apartment on the Upper East Side; now he was on the West, a couple of blocks shy from Columbia and angled underneath an umbrella.

"How did you...?"

It wasn't often that Beth was lost for words.

He was wearing the same suit from the Tisch gala, the same shoes and the same tie. He'd changed his pocket square. It was blue and matched his eyes.

Behind him, a car was tightly pulled against the sidewalk, an engine running like a light hum in the city orchestra that kept New York alive. It wasn't a towncar this time and she had a suspicion it was his; it was a nice make, expensive and parked very illegally on a one-way street.

Then, Beth's eyes drew to the flowers in his hand, and her brow furrowed even further.

"Addison," Mark answered the question she hadn't quite been able to finish. It was an obvious answer but still took her by surprise, "I almost didn't find it, actually. Your building is pretty well hidden––"

"She gave you my––"

"She did," He nodded, "I was pretty surprised but she gave it up pretty easily––"

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Her brain caught up with the rest of her.

Her words were loud but hesitant and wary, as if she waiting for the sky to fall or for Mark to just humiliate her all over again. Her jaw locked and she felt a watery wind cause goosebumps to raise on the back of her neck. She kept herself on the threshold of the building, refusing to stand in the rain to humour a man who had only been an asshole to her.

Yeah, she wasn't taking any small talk, not tonight.

As if on cue, Mark's face split into his perfectly charismatic smile.

She wondered if it was exhausting, being able to snap into something that appeared so horribly fake.

She wondered, too, if he thought that would work, that a pretty light smile (that really, really, was very pretty) would make up for how desperately she'd wanted to die in that room. She'd never been so embarrassed in her life, never felt so much shame, even for thinking, for a second, that they could even pretend––

"I have flowers," Mark started, pointing out the very obvious. He nodded down at the yellow roses, "I have really nice and expensive flowers––"

"Mark."

The amount of distaste in her tone caused him to pause.

For a moment, his perfect smile wavered.

He sighed.

Her facial expression was not kind.

But, even so, he held her gaze.

He didn't shy away from her very strong hatred for him. What the fuck was this man doing, standing on her street with flowers? She wasn't stupid, she had a suspicion, she had an answer to the question she really didn't want to ask again.

His eyes, briefly, fell to the floor and he smiled, so very softly to himself.

You son of a––

"You were right," He said.

Her eyebrows raised.

He spoke with very visible reluctance, with an ego that was very clearly bruised. But, despite the strain and the reluctance, he still spoke straight to her; his chin lifted back up to her, to the woman standing half in the rain. He didn't hide how much it pained him to say it. He didn't hide how much he hesitated to continue.

Mark wet his bottom lip with his tongue, heaving a sigh.

"You were right," Mark continued in Beth's stunned silence, "I'm not getting any investors doing things my way––"

She couldn't help it. A loud snort fell out of her, not quite matching the classy debonair look she'd been going for in a royal purple sleeved dress with matching heels. A similarly classy statement came out between her teeth:

"Yeah," Beth said, the perfect picture of a socialite, "No shit."

"There's the Bellevue gala," Mark continued, not faltering even in the face of her perturbment. "There's a room full of investors that are meeting across the city––"

"Yeah," She repeated, "I know."

She did know.

Addison had worked very hard to get her into this event and Beth stood outside this apartment as a shadow of her; her sister had done what Beth had tried to do for Mark, but the difference between Beth and Mark was that Beth had wanted to be helped.

Beth had gotten her ticket and she'd gotten her plus one too, now Calum was trying to find his cuff-links as Beth waited for their taxi.

"Good," He said and then he nodded, seeming relieved, "It starts in an hour and there's a free bar––"

Beth sighed, shaking her head slowly. She knew where this was going.

"Mark."

"They have free champagne, too," He was unfazed. Always so fucking unfazed. "I called ahead. It's expensive stuff, the good shit. There's going to be a lot of important people there... A lot of important contacts––"

She tried again.

"Mar––"

"They asked if you'd be attending," In face of her interruption, he just talked faster. Beth shook her head, silenced her his determination. "They asked me if you were going to be coming along and I didn't know what to—"

"I'm not going to the gala with you, Mark," She was concise in drawing her boundary. This time, she was the one who didn't falter. "I'm not putting myself through all that shit again—"

"I said you'd go on the RSVP. I'm going to look like an idiot without you—"

"Yeah well," Beth said frankly, "I think you'll find you already look like an idiot."

She wished he'd thought this through, she really had, because he really did look like an idiot. Beth had stood there for hours, trying her best not to watch Mark make a joke out of his own career, and had asked herself the same question over and over again––

Why?

Why did he continue to dig his own professional grave, no matter how many people that tried to help him?

And now, Beth could see the answer written plainly across his face:

He couldn't help it.

Mark Sloan was a man of dangerous impulses.

She stared at him, at the man in the rain with the flowers that looked anything but cheap. She would've loved to say that they were shitty, but they both knew they weren't. They looked expensive, custom-made, a bouquet that looked out of place in his fist and more to the taste of––

Oh.

Beth's eyes averted to stare down the street, a muscle ticking over in her jaw like a time bomb.

Oh you have to be fucking kidding me––

"Yeah," He said after a moment, agreeing with the statement, "I do."

How was it that she found herself in this conundrum again? Two weeks later and here they both were: dressed up as people outside that they weren't inside. Beth was wearing Addison's shoes and Amelia's dress, while she was pretty sure her earrings belonged to one of Archer's ex-girlfriends–– weren't they just frauds? Weren't they just people dressing in shoes a couple sizes too big, like kids going through their parents wardrobe?

Beth cleared her throat, shaking her head.

"I don't know what you want from me, Mark––"

"Be my date," Mark said, and it just caused a dent to appear between Beth's eyebrows. He didn't exactly sound sincere. She wondered if he'd been held at gunpoint to recite and memorise these words, "Come with me to the Bellevue gala. It's just one evening––"

"I already have a date," Beth interjected, "I actually have a boyfriend, remember? Not a fake one. I have a guy who's not going to hit on every woman and man and do god knows what when my back is turned––"

She had a guy she was pretty sure she was falling for. Calum was good, he was good to her and everything she was trying to do. He wanted to be there for her, he wanted to help her pave her way professionally. Calum had been nothing but supportive and sweet. Mark on the other hand...

Jesus Christ.

Beth's nose wrinkled and she wondered, wildly, how Mark could be so naive.

She watched his face twist into a scoff, "I'm the better option here––"

Her eyebrows just raised, a miffed scoff falling past her lips in return, "Oh, really?"

"Yeah," Mark said without missing a beat, "I am."

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, face scrunching into a moment of fake thought and deep consideration.

"No," She said once she'd 'thought' for long enough, "I don't think you are––"

"He's not going to get you into the after party."

Mark's statement did exactly as he'd intended it to: it made her pause, jaw clenching as she realised how closely he was studying her. His words had been frank, almost victorious as if he'd figured her out. He'd said as if he'd been able to predict where her thoughts would go at those words–– her expression almost turned pained.

She inhaled deeply and looked away.

"Mark––"

"Y'know I spent ages wondering why you didn't fight back against Addie when she asked you to do this," Mark interrupted again. Against her will, her eyes flickered back to him, watching as he cracked an easy, breathless smile. "It confused me because I look at you and I see someone's who's constantly fighting everything and then it just... it clicked."

Beth didn't move a muscle.

"After all the crap you gave me about me needing you," That word made a chill fall down her spine. Need. "I realised that as much as I need you for this, you need me too."

Oh fuck.

The thing she hated most about this moment was the suspicion she had that he was right. Mark wasn't wrong, he was right–– and that pained her to say it.

She'd watched Addison scramble to try and get her into social events and fail. But, when it came to Mark, for every disapproving shake of the head there was at least one enabler that was eager to give him suave, charismatic smile a chance and an entry ticket––

Oh fuck.

"I've been invited to the after party with a plus one," Mark continued despite how badly Beth wanted him to stop. Her grip tightened on the door. "Drinks at some hotel across the street from the venue... a private room... all of the executives from the board... think about all of the networking you're gonna do when their attention is actually on you... and that's what you need, right? You need to make an impression... get the reputation–– get your name in their heads? Flash that pretty smile of yours and make them remember it..."

Beth's brow furrowed and she just stared at him, trying to visualise it. If she'd learnt anything from the last gala it had been that it was very difficult to pay attention in a room like that. What people she had successfully networked with had been half caught up in their champagne glasses and the sound of Debussy in the background. It hadn't worked.

So now, she just stared at him, slowly processing the proposition all over again.

What was it with this man? With this situation? She felt like she was truly stuck in time loop. She didn't feel any different about Mark Sloan than she had a week ago: she still really wanted to slap that stupid smirk off of his face and tell him to wake the fuck up–– but, there was something about this whole exchange that made her wonder...

Was he taking this more seriously now?

Was this... Was this almost a serious conversation?

After a prolonged pause and ample staring, Beth cleared her throat.

"I don't think it's––"

"Don't make me say it again," He half-joked, whatever attempt at seriousness dissipating between them. Beth let out a breath, "Don't make me––"

"You can't just––"

"We can help each other––"

"There's no We," Beth retorted, shaking her head, "You only think of yourself."

Mark blinked at her, slightly jostled by her sharp tone.

"Well, okay," He stated. A pause and then he laughed, head dipping down in a slow nod, "I mean, I'd argue I think about a lot of people... all the time––"

"I can't go through that shit again––"

"I think of the planet... I mean... I'm really into recycling right now––"

"You humiliated me," It was her turn to interrupt, voice sharp and the hand on the door trembling slightly. She clenched as a way of stammering it. "You made me look like a fool and I'm not a fool. I'm anything but a fucking fool––"

"There it is," Mark said, his grin widening, "You call me an arrogant bastard but then look... God, there's that Montgomery ego."

Beth was almost exasperated, caught off-guard by everything about this man. He was dressed like a gentleman but was far from it. He was too bold, too outspoken, too––

"You have my word..."

He had too much to say too. That's all Beth could think. Whatever script that had been written hadn't taken the memo to shut the fuck for just a second and let Beth breathe. She didn't think his word was worth anything, despite the very vague sense of sincerity in his eyes.

Didn't he ever grow tired of his own voice? Didn't he ever just...?

And he said everything with that easy, care-free smile.

She stared at him again, feeling her lungs heave with the strain of keeping herself composed.

"For what?" Beth's response was a little too sharp, a little too short, "You promise you're going to be on your best behaviour? That you're going to say your pleases and your thank-yous and eat your veggies––?"

"I won't be an ass," He said smoothly, barely fazed by her, "I'll do all the shit you were talking about. All the nice stuff. We can be a functional couple. Start anew from Tisch. Pretend that never happened––"

"But it did," was her only reply, "You know it did."

Mark just sighed.

"And here I am, apologising."

Beth kissed her teeth, her smile vindictive, "Well... I haven't heard a sorry."

"Sorry."

It was abrupt, so unceremonious, that whatever anger she'd been harbouring broke into a breathless, tired laugh–– she turned her head away to look up at the sky, through the rain clouds to try and find the moon. It was inescapable, her lips twitching until she tried to hide it. Very softly, she shook her head.

What an asshole. What an actual fucking asshole.

"That was a crappy apology––"

"Yeah," Mark said after a shrug, looking down at the bouquet in his hands, "I'm great at many things but... apologies aren't one of them––"

"You don't say?"

"I don't really appreciate that sarcasm, Montgomery––"

"You're going to have to appreciate if you want this to go anywhere, Sloan."

She thought she'd made it clear: she wasn't afraid to serve back exactly what she was given. If he wanted to be an ass, she'd be an ass back; and a wonderful one at that. It was what lead her to staring at him, an eyebrow raised as she thought over and over––

After party... getting into places she otherwise couldn't... meeting people... really making her mark–– but, all with a Mark.

It was tempting. Beth hated how tempting it was.

In fact, she hated a lot about all of this. She hated that it was a chore. She hated that it was a job she'd never applied for talk about want. She hated that she'd tried to do it herself, that she had a man upstairs that was more than willing to do it, just out of love. She hated that this whole affair had Addison's name written all over it; the flowers, Mark's suit and the feeling of contempt at the back of Beth's throat. After all, she knew her sister and her attention to detail––

Last time Beth had checked, yellow roses meant forgiveness.

Maybe that was why, when she sighed, she felt as though she'd been holding that very breath for thousands of years.

"We can help each other," Mark repeated, when it had been silent for a little too long, "This will benefit both of us––"

"Yeah," Beth said almost monotonously, "You said that."

"You need me," He said, "Don't deny it––"

"I haven't denied that––"

"And we could some real good work together––"

"Probably––"

"Think about all of the kids my research could save––"

"You're trying to guilt trip me with children?"

"Well, I don't know what else you want me to do––"

"What's my name?"

Mark hadn't expected that.

She watched it catch him off-guard. Good.

"Do you even know my name, Mark?"

It was a test, the sort of that test that shouldn't have even been a test, but it was. The sort of test that was explicitly and clearly make or break: What's her name? 

This woman, standing in the rain staring at him as he tried to woo her over with shitty flowers and a half-hearted smile. 

What's her name? 

The woman you are claiming you're capable of helping. What's her––

Beth knew a silent Mark was never a good sign. Her lip twitched as she realised that this was it, after all this smooth-talking, he was still the exact ass he was claiming he wasn't.

He was still the douchebag that never remembered a name, even someone that wasn't just any other girl. Even when he needed her, even when she'd stuck around for longer than just one night. Even when she'd been nothing but Montgomery, defined by the relationship he had to his best friends girlfriend––

Mark just stared at her.

A low chuckle fell past Beth's lips.

"Wow."

 She didn't know what she'd expected. Beth really didn't even know what she'd thought would happen. He was Mark. It was Mark. The expectations always had to be so dizzyingly low just for self preservation. She couldn't expect him to stop flirting for longer than a few hours–– She couldn't even expect him to remember her name.

A sick, twisted smile stretched over her face and she raised her eyebrows, cheeks flushing as she realised that she was just wasting her time. This was all one big waste of fucking time.

 "Wow, okay––"

"Elizabeth."

The breath caught in the back of her throat.

Oh.

He smiled slightly as he said it. 

It wasn't a grin and it wasn't a smirk, it was a smile.

Beth stared at him, just as she had been for the whole of this conversation, but now, there was a lump at the back of her throat and the pounding of blood in her ears. 

She wasn't sure what it was: was it the fact that he knew it or the way he said it? It was as if he wrapped the syllables around his tongue, said it as if he hadn't spent the last fifty seconds trying to find it at the back of his mind. 

He said it as if he'd known it for his whole life. 

Beth's surprise was overshadowed by the way her eyes narrowed very slightly.

His lip twitched even further:

"Beth," Mark corrected himself, "Your name is Beth."

Very briefly, she closed her eyes. In her mind, she was back upstairs. In her mind, she'd told Calum to be the one to wait for their taxi cab because she knew where his cufflinks were; she knew they were on the sideboard, just by the dresser, the silver cufflinks with the tiny M for Montgomery. 

In her mind, they'd surpassed all of this, missed Mark and gotten straight into the car and gone off without a single issue. In her mind, things were peaceful.

"I need you, okay?"

But in reality, things felt shit.

She opened her eyes to see the look of very brief exasperation on Mark's face. It was the expression of a man who wasn't exactly used to hearing no. His words made her sigh. However, despite everything, Mark still shrugged as if it wasn't something that was physically painful to admit.

"I need you," He repeated, neither impassive nor sincere, just something deliciously in between, "I need you, Beth."

He needed her.

Beth knew he needed her, but for him to acknowledge it was a lot more than she'd bargained on.

A breath tumbled through her, a hot willowing breath that made her lungs ache and her diaphragm heave. (Fuck, how long did it take to find stupid fucking cufflinks?) She held his gaze and he held hers. A silent message passed between them, the sort of silent and very faint inflexion that wouldn't make sense until many years later.

Her lips parted with another sigh.

He needed her.

He needed someone.

He needed her.

Her response got tangled at the back of her throat. A choppy sound that almost sounded like a choke; but, somewhere in there was a chuckle. It was dry and it was miffed, as if she couldn't believe what she was about to agree to.

(For the record, Beth couldn't.)

"Fuck you," was what was said first.

Definitive. Coherent. Better than she'd expected for a moment like this.

It was an exhale of air that made Mark's eyebrows raise. (Good, he'd learnt to know that statement fluctuated. It was the words that were said when nothing else was left.) She could see on his face that he wasn't exactly sure what that meant–– but then came the smile.

It was the sort that told him she'd skin him alive if this all went to shit. That if this fucked up at any stage, he would have hell to pay. 

She turned back to the door and looked back at him over her shoulder. She shook her head, knowing she'd regret this all when it was over.

(For the record, Beth would.)

"Fuck it," was said next, "Give me five minutes."

And he did.

──────

　　AUTHOR'S NOTE ! . . .
he knows her name :')
(and boy, isn't he going to regret it.)
next chapter: in seattle, beth is taken to the principles office, mark hunts her down and archer and george have some quality bonding time! (and that's what you missed on glee!)

WORD COUNT ! . . .4600
REWRITTEN ON 21ST OF APRIL 2022