❛ 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 . . . ❜
017. heads will roll
━━━━━━━━━━━

It seemed as though staying in Seattle and taking the job at Seattle Grace came with various terms and conditions, some which Beth hadn't exactly thought out.

The first, although obvious, was arguably the most inconvenient: avoiding Mark Sloan.

The whole practice of it was an Olympic sport. There was something about going out of her way to stop them from crossing paths that made Beth feel as though she deserved a gold medal.

It involved ducking out of many corridors, almost barrel-rolling through doors and simply refusing to speak in a few conversations–– a few times following Beth's official induction onto Oscar Afualo's case, Mark had approached her again, attempting to talk about them or about her...

Yeah, talk my ass.

Beth knew the moment they started 'talking', one of them would end up yelling. It was a film she'd seen before. It was the same every time. They tried to talk, and behold, giving Archer his stress-free weeks of relaxation would be the last thing on the agenda.

Beth supposed it made sense that she was a pro. Mark, after all, seemed to be under the impression that running was all Beth could do.

It took a lot of her pride to admit that she couldn't stand being in a room with him, but she figured that she probably would've needed to admit herself into psychiatry if she had been actually able to anyway.

The second condition, naturally, came with Katherine Wyatt's most pleading, gilded smile.

"So they want you to give a talk?"

It was pitched sceptically across the foot of Archer's bed as he fumbled with his ice chips, squinting over his sister as she rooted around the bottom of her purse. 

The nurse from before, Eli, was attempting to change his sheets on his left. His chin raised to glance between the two siblings, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah," Beth sighed, "A full lecture in the hospital auditorium––"

"Wait," Eli drawled with the dryness of a friendship that had been established over late-night coffee and early morning sarcasm, "You're important? People actually want to hear what you have to say?"

Beth rolled her eyes.

"Apparently, there aren't any hospitals in Seattle that are trained to deal with and mass trauma therapy," She said, still trying to find her lipstick, "I mean... imagine that–– all these award-winning ERs and trauma centres and none of them even know how to treat and appropriately diagnose PTSD––"

"So what do they want you to do about it?"

Admittedly, that had been Beth's question too.

She supposed that Izzie hadn't been exactly wrong when she'd said that Beth had made a name for herself. Not quite a psychiatric wizard but at least a well established professional that worked for a fairly reputable organisation.

Beth wasn't blind, she knew that hospitals had jumped at the opportunity to see her talk, just on the organisation's name alone–– but, either way, they were willing to pay her good money to speak to a group of Seattle psychiatrists.

"How many people will it be?" Archer asked after Beth had filled him in. He squinted over at her and Beth, not for the first time, wished she was on the same kind of drugs he was.

"Uh," Beth's nose scrunched, "Not many I don't think––"

"Who would have thought," Eli remarked in the corner, "The same woman that was sleeping on my floor next to dirty bedpans... she's actually worth knowing?"

It was stupid to Beth, really, she didn't feel like the type of person worth knowing at all. She wasn't a particularly good person and she wasn't particularly interested in talking to people either. 

She wasn't the sort of good person that she thought people would travel for either––

"How are things going with Mark?"

Archer asked it as she went to leave.

Beth feigned surprise.

"What do you mean?"

Her brother had smiled slightly, a crease in between his brow and a whole system full of pain medication.

"That O'Malley guy mentioned you were on a patient with him..." (Gee, George, thanks.) "...You seem pretty chill for working with your ex-boyfriend. Is everything okay?"

She'd lied and said Everything was Fine, head full of rhetoric about how Archer's whole recovery balanced on his stress levels. His blood pressure kept it's thumb on her windpipe, shuddering a breath from her as she shrugged.

"You sure?"

Another shrug.

"You need me to beat him up?"

A shake of her head.

Again, she said it was fine, that Mark was fine, that everything in the universe was perfectly and utterly fine.

She said things were fine, despite how much she knew that, if she was left in a room with Seattle's most eligible bachelor, there was a fifty-fifty chance she'd end up ripping of his face from his fucking head.

But she didn't seem to be the only persosn having boy problems.

"What would you do if that was your Mom?"

The question wasn't asked by her or to her, but as Beth stood at a nurses' station, a week into her temporary employment at Seattle Grace Hospital. It was a day after she'd lied to Archer and a long run into the greatest game of hide and seek she'd ever played in her life.

Across from her, Alex Karev chipped his question over towards a very bewildered Lexie Grey. There was something so ginger about the way Lexie's nose scrunched slightly, head tilting as if to ask, silently, what Alex meant.

"What like... Oscar's mom?"

"Think about it," He said and he spoke with his hands,"If you were home with your elderly mother and some jackass comes through the window with a fake gun and beats the shit out of her–– what would you do?"

It was a very abrupt question, one that had come out of nowhere after the two doctors had finished tending to Oscar's gauze. In fact, Lexie was still pulling off her gloves as she blinked at him, a very unsure dent appearing between her eyebrows.

"I don't know?" She said almost hesitantly, "I mean I would probably just call the police..."

"So you'd let him beat her ass?"

From the other side of the nurses' station, Beth's eyebrows raised at Alex's brash reply, caught off-guard by the rudeness of his interruption. For a moment, Lexie visibly floundered.

"No... No! That's not what I'm––"

"What are the cops going to do?" He scoffed, shaking his head, "They wouldn't do shit––"

Beth could see it all written over Lexie's face, the way that she'd stuttered very slightly over her words. She watched just in time to watch Lexie sway very slightly on her feet and, when Beth blinked, she saw herself. 

The brunette surgical intern fumbled with her words.

"N-No! I'm just saying––"

Speak your mind.

"You'd really watch some guy beat up your mom and just sit and wait for the cops?"

Alex's question seemed to render Lexie speechless.

"It's not my problem," Beth murmured lightly to herself, looking back down at her patient notes, "It's not my problem... not my circus... not my monkeys... not my circus... not my monkeys––"

"You'd really let the guy kill her––?"

That caught the intern completely off-guard.

No one missed the look of devastation that passed across Lexie's face. 

It was no secret that it affected her deeply and Beth could tell, just from a single glance, that Alex had gone too far–– he'd hit a pressure button and, if Beth had to put money on it, she would've bet that Mama Grey was six feet under, dragging Lexie down with her. But, even so, the psychiatrist bit her tongue.

It's not my problem.

"You'd really let her just die––?"

Really not my problem.

"Jeez you really are fuckin' useless, huh?"

Oh, fuck it.

Beth slapped her medical chart down onto the nurses' station, causing the two doctor's to jolt in surprise.

"Doctor Karev?"

This time, no one missed the grimace that passed over his face.

He glanced at Beth from out of the corner of his eye, responding to the sickly sweet way she chipped his name between her lips.

She knew exactly what he saw: the condescending smile of a Montgomery who was very done with whatever stick he had wedged up his ass today.

Beth, very lightly, picked her way across the nurses' station towards them, all too aware of how Lexie's eyes flickered between the two of them, wary. Meanwhile, Alex just scoffed, as if to say of course she'd appear. He looked away, shaking his head at the floor.

"Don't you have a job to do?"

Was Beth's question, eyebrows raised and head pitched to the side. She, very swiftly, sized him up, all in the manner of a woman who had been a few too many drunk bar fights for comfort.

"Like a... a boob job or a... butt lift or whatever else Sloan does on his service?"

"You're not––"

A surgeon?  Beth finished what he couldn't. Her smile glimmered, Well buckle yourself up buddy. I've still got the god complex of one.

"Oh I know," Beth cut him short with a shrug, "I'm just trying to help you fill all this time you seem to have to just stand around and talk."

Alex's eye twitched.

Yeah, asshole, Beth broadcasted in the confines of her inner voice, Go find another surgical intern to displace all of your stress on.

"I'm not––"

"If you are free enough to be an ass, I'm sure I can talk to Psych and we could more than likely find a job for you," Her smile blistered around the edges. Too bright, too pristine, too sweet. Alex scoffed again, "I'm sure you'd really feel at home in those Psych scrubs. It'll bring really out the colour of that angry flush to your skin. Beige goes so well with red, don't you think?"

The surgical resident didn't give her any response, just shook his head, shot a glare at Lexie and then turned on his heel. That left Beth and Lexie just as they had been before, the two of them standing there, watching him as he huffed his way into the next room.

Beth watched him go, half miffed by his audacity and concerned by his mental state.

She had to bite on the tip of her tongue to stop herself from calling after him.

Pleasure working with you, she would've said if this had been five years earlier, Give Sloan my best.

"Thanks for that," said a very small voice, and Beth looked around to see Lexie's eyes still fixed on the station in front of her.

"Do you want me to––?"

"No," Lexie shook her head, "He's just going through a lot right now––"

"Yeah," Beth said, with almost calculation, "You said."

The psychiatrist bit the inside of her cheek, trying to restrain the urge to be the exact person she'd told Lexie she wasn't.

It wasn't that she loved giving unsolicited advice about people's lives, but, just like sleeping with the head of plastics surgery at her old hospital back in New York, Beth sure loved to bring her work home with her.

"So you're on the Afualo case now?" Lexie changed the subject, clearly not eager to talk about Alex any longer. Beth watched an almost forced light surge through Lexie's eyes, her mood picking up unnaturally. Very hesitantly, Beth nodded. "That's so cool! Congrats on your first case at Seattle Grace."

"Thank you," was Beth's response, "I'm pretty sure I owe all my thanks to you. You're the one who gave them my name––"

Lexie's cheeks flushed slightly, "Oh it's nothing. They just needed a psychiatrist and you seem good at your job, so..."

Beth raised an eyebrow.

"I do?"

"Well, yeah," Lexie said, on the verge of a ramble, and she seemed very slightly flustered, "I mean... a year down in Indonesia working with PTSD patients and traige on that earthquake, a study on memory recall after car accidents in Boston and that paper you wrote on trauma processing in Kabul––"

If possible, Beth's eyebrows seemed to rise even higher.

She was completely taken aback by the list of her professional achievements as they were read back to her, almost perfectly in order. After a moment of further rambling, Lexie seemed to catch what was happening. 

A red tint crossed over her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," She said, cutting herself short, "I... I, uh, I googled you."

A beat passed.

"Oh," Beth said, "Okay."

The surgical intern cleared her throat and desperately changed the subject for the second time.

"B-But, the Afualo case that's kinda cool, right?"

Cool felt like a very interesting word to describe this whole situation.

Beth's eyes narrowed very slightly as she struggled to keep up with the conversation.

"Watching him heal," Lexie added, nodding her head back towards the Afualo's as he settled into his new pressure garments. She was still noticeably flustered. Beth's smile strained slightly. "The human body's process of regeneration is just..."

"Yeah," Beth murmured, although fairly disinterested. Cool really didn't feel like the right word. It was painful. Extremely painful. "It's crazy what we're capable of."

Was it crazy that Beth was capable of holding up some professional smile whenever Mark's name came up in conversation? 

Was it crazy that her eye only just about twitched whenever Oscar's wife praised him?

That Doctor Sloan is so considerate... He's been so helpful and gentle with our family... We owe so much... And, in all honesty, I think our teen daughter might have a bit of a crush on him––

Yeah, Beth felt like saying, my sister did too.

But, despite everything, she took Pamela Afualo's admiration for the man in stride, putting her grievances in a purse that was checked at the door. She stepped into borrowed pants, pulled on her blazer, tied up her hair, and did exactly what she wasn't supposed to do.

"I've never really been on a case like this," Lexie continued, "I mean... Mar–– Doctor Sloan, he really knows his stuff––"

A light chuckle fell past Beth's lips, her head still filled with all of the wisecracks she could make about Mark being knowledgeable and, particularly, experienced.

"He sure does––"

"It's really fascinating to watch––"

"Almost makes up for being on his service, right?"

Mark was infamously bad with his staff. Beth had heard it all: laundry runs, lunch orders, scut and more scut on top. Maybe that's why Beth had stepped in... out of pity?

She knew how rough working Mark's service was for an intern. Lexie was soft and malleable and the sort of intern Mark liked to eat alive. Beth couldn't bare to think of the stress Mark had put her through already–– he really liked to make his interns sweat.

(Beth's head was lowered, meaning she missed how Lexie's eyebrows bunched slightly as the brunette caught the bitter chuckle that fell past Beth's lips. There was a pause, one in which Lexie seemed to decide she was just reading into it wrong and brushed it aside. She just shrugged.)

"It's not too bad," The younger woman said, "He's got a lot of experience––"

Beth's lip twitched.

"Oh I bet."

She really did bet.

And then the subject changed again.

"Are you excited about your lecture?" Lexie asked, and Beth looked over at her, inhaling deeply with a half-sigh. "George mentioned that they'd asked you to..."

She trailed off slightly, watching as Beth grimaced to herself.

"He did?"

Beth wasn't sure what was causing her more stress, the prospect of giving this talk to a room full of people or the fact that George O'Malley was on his way to deeply entrenching himself into every part of Beth's life. He was everywhere all at once. 

It was, for a lack of a better term, getting pretty fucking annoying.

It wasn't that she didn't like George, she just liked being left alone once in a while. If she wanted attention, she would've called her boyfriend back.

"Yeah," Lexie responded tenderly, "You know, he uh... he said that he thinks you'll crush it and I... I, uh, I agree––"

"Oh, I'll crush it," was the psychiatrist's response, flashing her a perfectly cultivated smile, "It's not a big deal. Just me reading some words off of some paper, presenting the Afualo case," She nodded down at the consent form between them, "I'm not stressed about it."

"When is it?"

"In about half an hour," Beth breezed, and then she shrugged again, as if to reassert that she wasn't stressed at all. "I mean... it's what? Twenty people tops––"

It would be casual, it would be easy, it would be nothing different to the therapy groups Beth had lead, to the talks to groups of addicts she'd given. Just because this was backed by a psychiatry department and to a bunch of strangers... it didn't make it scary at all.

Right?

(Beth wasn't letting herself feel stressed. If she did, well, she was fairly sure she would have never

"Well," A dent appeared between Lexie's eyebrows, her mouth scrunching in scepticism, "The auditorium is a big space for just twenty peop––"

"Grey?"

Alex appeared from the room again, his dark eyes flickering between the two of them with a light scowl forever present. The woman in question almost jumped.

"Yes–"

"Sloan's going to be here any second for the morning rounds––"

Lexie nodded quickly until Alex had disappeared again, leaving her to look over at the psychiatrist in earnest.

"I guess I better––"

"Lexie."

Beth said her name so carefully, body braced as she went through the same internal war as she had before.

C'mon Beth, don't... it's not your business... this is not... you have no obligation... she's not your patient... she's not your friend...

But it was a honey trap, balancing on the tip of Lexie's nose as it wrinkled so innocently, doe eyes turning to look over at Beth. A rush of air fell past the psychiatrist's mouth and she swore silently to herself.

(This whole empathy thing is making it so hard to be a mean bitch.)

The surgical intern just blinked at her.

"Lexie," Beth repeated almost tepidly, making sure that she was listening to her. She assumed a voice that she would've used in a session with a patient, "I think you'd feel better if you put Alex in his place."

"I don't––"

"Lexie," She said again, "Hot shit, remember?"

Hot shit. She could see the words resonate through her eyes.

Hot shit. The promise of being able to handle your own shit and get away with it.

Hot shit. Of being unapologetically hot and letting the world burn around you.

Hot shit. It was the wisest words Beth could bestow on her without being paid for them.

Hot shit. Know your value.

The brunette seemed to hesitate. There was a pause, a moment in which Lexie grappled with the same complacency that had pinned Beth back for so many years in New York.

It'd been the hesitation of asserting herself, of knowing herself and her place in a crowded room–– of being able to walk into a busy restaurant without someone else holding her upright.

Lexie opened her mouth to respond, but seemed to think against it.

Instead, she just nodded and sighed.

"George mentioned that you've been spending your lunch in your brother's hospital room..."

Beth blinked at the sudden change of subject.

"Oh," She said, "He did?"

Jesus, how much did this man talk about her?

"Yeah," Lexie said, "He, uh... If you want to get out there you can sit with us, y'know? If you need someone to sit with at lunch, you're very welcome to sit with me and George."

That caught Beth off-guard. 

It was a tender proposition that made her think of lunchrooms, calculus text books and popularity–– Lexie was inviting her to sit with them at lunch? Beth hadn't had an invite like that in years; in fact, she'd gotten accustomed to people avoiding her more than inviting her places.

Lexie smiled back at her.

"Oh," Beth repeated, "Sure, I'll, uh... I'll think about––"

And then, Beth herself seemed to pause too. The realisation hit her, words that had been buried by lunchtime proposals and the impulse to slip away in the opposite direction.

"Did Karev say that Mark would be right dow––?"

"Little Grey?"

Lexie jumped again, but this time it wasn't Alex calling her name. 

No, their heads turned to find Mark standing a couple of paces down the hallway, his eyes stuck on Lexie, unmoving. He made no movement to acknowledge the woman standing beside her–– it was only Lexie. Lexie and Lexie only.

Just as he always was whenever Beth had the pleasure of seeing him, Mark looked furious.

 Again, it was all in his jaw, a clenched muscle that seemed incapable of unfurling. Beth's lip twitched and she leaned against the nurse's station.

Mark didn't look away from his intern. Not once.

"That," Beth mumbled to herself, "Is my cue to leave."

(Only briefly, at the quiet sound of her voice, did Mark glance over at her. It was as if she was a solar flare, too bright for him to look at for too long. When he did, he risked his patience and his rage just like a person would risk their sight.)

She picked up her belongings, balancing her sanity on the clench of Mark's jaw as she flashed Lexie a very polite smile. In reality, Beth was biting the inside of her cheek, grinding her molars to stop herself from saying something––

Mark, despite how desperately he'd been trying to speak to Beth, seemed to ignore her entirely.

"Are you ready for Mr. Afualo?"

Lexie nodded quickly, "I am."

Beth's eyes flickered back to look at her, at the slightly flustered brunette that scrambled to pick up her files and everything she needed for the meeting. Her cheeks were flushed, lips pressed into a haphazard line as she fumbled with the objects in her arms.

It's out of anxiety, Beth reasoned, hell hath no fury like Mark Sloan left waiting.

Like clockwork, Beth turned to disappear into thin air, ready to slip away into the unassuming bustle of Seattle Grace Hospital.

She took her notes and her pride and tried not to think about the hypocrisy she was living. She'd told Lexie to stand her ground and here she was, slipping out of sight and out of view of her ex-boyfriend––

"Hey––"

Lexie's voice stopped her in her track and Beth was forced to look over her shoulder back at them.

"Aren't you coming?" Lexie asked.

At first, Beth hadn't realised the question was directed at her.

Her eyebrows raised, but Lexie was staring at her expectantly, halfway in between the nurses' station and the Afualo's room. Behind her, Mark averted his eyes down to the floor. A storm seemed to brew at the back of his head, just for the few seconds that spanned Lexie's proposition.

"Isn't a surgical briefing––?"

"You're still his doctor," The intern shrugged, "Right, Doctor Sloan?" In unison, both women looked over at the plastic surgeon, and Beth watched the weight of the world transfer on his shoulders. "You're as welcome in there as we are... you've got updates to share too––?"

Disclaimer: Beth really didn't want to be in the same room as Mark, talk about on the same case.

Despite how nonchalantly she'd told Mark that she was consulting on his patient, Beth didn't want anything to do with him. She didn't want to look at him, she didn't want to listen to him and she sure as hell didn't want to speak to him.

Beth got no joy out of being in the same space as him, forever plagued by the knowledge that there he stood, completely unscathed by events that had ruined her. He stood the same, spoke the same and conducted all of his work the exact same too.

 His ego was painstakingly familiar to her; she could almost even taste it in the air.

She still held that same feeling within her, that same itch under her skin that she couldn't reach. It was a constant pressure in her bones, a building of tension under her skin–– whether he was staring at her or not, Beth could always feel him. 

She could always sense when that son of a bitch was near.

God, it'd been so peaceful pretending that Mark didn't exist. Despite the fact that they shared a patient, Beth had been so happy to just indulge in this weird twilight zone–– Mark not acknowledging her... going out of his way to avoid her...

Ever so quickly, Beth's eyes flashed over towards Mark.

"I'm okay," She said, "The presentation is soon so––"

"But you still have time, right?"

Yeah, she did.

She found it hard to talk herself out of a patient briefing when Lexie looked at her like that, with so much enthusiasm and delight in her eyes. Beth, for a split second, forgot the bitterness that choked the back of her throat.

She gave Lexie a strained smile and, with the same hopelessness that had dragged her into giving a lecture, she found herself in the briefing.

Fuck, She thought to herself, What the fuck am I doing?

That's the exact thought that came to her as she stood in the centre of the room, heads turning towards her as she was encouraged to share her own updates.

Oh fuck indeed.

With a tight smile, Beth's head dropped to look down at the notes, brow scrunching as she realised she hadn't anticipated this and didn't really have anything prepared to say. Everything she said in a mess of medical terminology, was just standard:

Oscar was doing well, not great, but he was doing okay. Fumbling with information, not exactly progressing at the rate they would have hoped, but Beth was optimistic. She wasn't optimistic about much but she was optimistic for her patients––

And then she saw a note on the corner of his medication chart.

"I'm confused," She began, interjecting just as the conversation was about to move on, "Does this say clonidine?"

She'd spoken over Mark, brow furrowed.

The man stopped mid-sentence, seemed to take a moment to adjust himself to the disturbance and register what Beth had just said.

Beth had not lied when she'd said that she didn't want to intrude.

There were many places to be petty and spiteful, but a patient wasn't one of them. The Afualo family all looked over at her, Oscar deep in his bed, tightly wrapped with gauze and garments.

"What?" Mark asked.

This time, he looked at her.

She felt his gaze on the side of her face as she tried to read it again, convincing herself that she hadn't read it wrong. But no, there it was, printed on the medical record clear as day: Beth heaved a breath, shaking her head softly.

"You're giving him clonidine?"

"I am," He said, "Is there a problem?"

Beth got the feeling that, from the slight twitch of his lip, he knew the exact answer to his own question.

Mark sounded slightly tired but equally patronising. 

She didn't miss how his tone changed very slightly when he addressed her. It was subtle but it was there. From the way he spoke, she got the feeling that every answer she was given would be short and sweet. Tight, reluctant, syllables chipped between teeth.

Oh, she thought to herself, Someone's in a real pissy mood today.

Is there a problem? he'd asked, like the answer wasn't all too obviously yes. 

Beth's jaw clenched very slightly as she read that word over and over, grip tightening slowly on the chart in her hands. As Mark continued his self-serving display of arrogance, she felt the realisation settle into her bones––

In the corner of her eye, she watched how Alex, ever so faintly smirked.

Oh, she thought to herself, Sloan, you fucking asshole. You did this on purpose.

He was too happy with himself for it not to be.

Fuck this.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Sloan," Beth interrupted once again, cutting through a egotistical speech on Oscar's perfect progress. "You changed the medication to clonidine––"

"Regular doses of oral Clonidine and intravenous ketamine for severe pain," He recited it without a single qualm, taking a breath to steady him and diverting his eyes back to the patient. He gave Oscar and his family one long, charming smile, "And it's working very well, isn't it Oscar? No complaints, right––?"

"You're right there, doc––"

"When was this?"

Beth's question made him falter, just as Oscar was playing into whatever display of ego that Mark was striking up. But Beth wasn't looking at Oscar––

No, for the first time in a long time, she was looking straight at her ex-boyfriend.

A clear expression of bewilderment and slight horror was stretched across her face. Mark didn't look back.

"I'm glad to see you're getting on well," was all the plastic surgeon said, giving Oscar a very encouraging nod. "The medication should help us ease you through into the next round of reconstruction. We'll be organising preparation for the skin grafts in the next two weeks or so, I'm very optimistic about our chances of––"

"His medication is wrong," Beth interjected very firmly, "Clonidine shouldn't be on his prescription–– not while he's going through restorative therapy––"

It was wrong. It was very, very wrong. She knew Mark wasn't dumb. He'd been good at chemistry, last time she'd checked. He knew as well as she did that a side effect of Clonidine was memory loss. Just by looking at Oscar's chart, Beth was shocked that they'd even made progress at all.

You fucking ass.

It was wrong, very wrong, so she said it directly to Mark. She didn't hesitate to say it, in front of all of the doctors and all of the family and watched a muscle twitch in Mark's jaw.

He didn't look at her once.

"It's not wrong, Doctor Montgomery."

"It's wrong, Doctor Sloan."

Beth could see everyone in the room exchanged a look between them, caught off-guard by the insinuation that Mark had made a mistake. She watched a redness travel its way up his neck. The surgeon shook his head. So, Beth spoke first:

"I put in a request to adjust his Morphine dosage, not change it––"

"It was my decision to change the painkiller––"

"It wasn't yours to make," She spoke firmly.

"I didn't receive any requests from Psych," Mark said, almost robotically back, "It must've not of come through––"

"It was completely nearly two days ago."

Mark shrugged, "You know admin... If it's not urgent it might take a while."

Beth felt her temper unfurl very slowly in the centre of her chest.

"It was urgent."

Another shrug, "Maybe the paperwork was done incorrectly––"

"Doctor Sloan––"

"I haven't seen anything," His voice was sharper there. No one else noticed it but her. His head turned very slightly to the side and she felt him glare at her from out of the corner of his eye. "Next time you want to change a medication, bring it to me directly instead of going to another team... that's how we do it here."

Oh, Beth thought to herself, you motherfu––

Yeah, that wasn't going to work out.

She knew that their current situation was some sort of stand off. 

She knew that they'd drawn lines all over this hospital and she'd ducked and dived out of every conversation with him, but for this, Beth couldn't quite bite her tongue.

(For the record, Mark changing the medication on Oscar's prescription was very unprofessional and very bad for what she was trying to achieve.)

Jesus fucking Christ, was her second thought, No wonder he can't fucking remember anything.

Beth shook her head slightly, looking down at the chart as Mark continued a talk with their patient that was nothing short of an ego display. He praised himself at least three times in every sentence and Beth, very silently, wondered whether the son of a bitch still had a praise kink.

"Doctor Sloan––"

Unfortunately for him, she had no good things to say at all.

She followed after him once he was finished, chart clutched in one hand and very strained professionalism in the other. 

He pretended not to hear her, his head turning to Alex as he gave instructions on operation prep. The intern, however, glanced over at the woman with hell on her heels, his eyes flickering between the two of them as Beth's anger bubbled under her skin.

So Beth repeated his name, voice sharp.

"Doctor Sloan––"

"Make sure he's kept comfortable..." Mark continued to Alex, his back turned to the psychiatrist, "This is a long road to recovery Karev... the least we can do is make it a Rolls Royce with padded seats, right?"

"Doctor––"

"Oh, and maybe his family would like a fruit basket for condolences?"

"Sloan––"

"One of them with the recyclable baskets... and tiny cheeses––"

"Mark."

He paused at that.

Did it feel familiar to him too?

Mark.

It was exactly how he'd said her name in the corridor.

Mark.

The strained weight that teetered on four letters.

Mark.

The tension in her jaw and in those syllables.

Mark.

Beth forced his name out between tightly pressed lips and smiled pleasantly as Alex gave her his full attention.

Mark, however, didn't turn to look at her.

But, he did falter. He faltered so visibly that Alex noticed.

Good, Beth thought to herself and then, for good measure added: you asshole.

"Doctor Sloan," Beth said once she knew he was listening. Her tone recovered its professionalism and it's calm. "Can I have a minute, please?"

There was a pause and, within that pause, Beth knew, even from the back of his head that Mark smiled. Alex's eyes drew back to his boss, watching whatever (very little and useless) emotion flickered across that man's face.

Beth had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from telling Alex that whatever smile Mark smiled was a red herring: it was a bitter and rotten, just like the rest of him.

"You wanna talk?"

Mark's tone was light.

Dangerously so.

"I do," Beth said, barely even wavering, "I need to talk you about this medication––"

"I'm busy at the moment," He said without hesitation, "Try forwarding it to my secretary, I'll look it over later––"

"Mark."

She said it again, firmly, with all the intention of letting him know that he didn't get to just dismiss her. (Was it hypocritical to stand her ground when she'd refused Mark the same thing? Probably, but she'd called far more worse things than a hypocrite in her life.) She raised her chin and set her jaw and waited for Mark to address her.

"Doctor Montgomery," He said after a pause. She didn't like the way he said it. Five years and she still fucking hated the sound of her name on his lips. "I just told you, I'm busy––"

"This is urgent," She said, "You know it's urgent."

(You ass, Beth added silently.)

Very slowly, Mark nodded.

"You really wanna talk?"

It was almost a challenge.

"I do."

It was exactly what he wanted, she knew that. She knew that from the look on his face, the self-serving curl of his lip and the way his eyes sparkled. He turned to her and, with the full force of a sun she'd once considered orbiting around, he smiled–– so bitter, so angry, so belittling.

"Fine," He drawled, "Let's talk."

It's what he wanted all along, and he'd taken advantage of their patient to do it.

You sick motherfuc-–

"Beth?"

Like a sudden change in the wind, Lexie appeared, her brow furrowing as she noticed the two doctors standing in the centre of the hallway. 

She missed the tension between them, the anger in Beth's shoulders and jaw, and the way that Mark was all too happy to bask in it. Instead, she just tilted her head to the side, seemingly bewildered that Beth was still here.

"Don't you have your lecture soon?"

Beth ripped her eyes off of her ex-boyfriend and down to the time above the nurses station. A light, silent curse-word fell past her lips and her shoulders fell.

Lexie was right. She shouldn't have been here... She didn't have time––

She didn't have time to deal with Mark, not right now.

Her head turned to stare at him, at the arrogant son of a bitch that had made her life hell and now seemed to be making it even harder, just to bait her into actually talking to him.

Who would have thought that a man like him would stoop so low? Making Oscar's recovery even harder just to satisfy some crappy petty urge in him––

"This isn't over," Beth chipped out.

"What a shame," Mark said, without missing a beat, "Looks like you'll have to book an appointment through my secretary––"

Bastard.

She rolled her eyes, almost throwing the patient chart at a petulant Alex. The surgical resident grappled with it, caught off-guard by the sudden movement. He almost dropped it, embarrassing himself in front of half of Oscar's surgical team and the psychiatrists shadowing Beth.

All the while, Lexie was a beacon of pure sunshine.

"You're going to be amazing," Lexie said, "Good luck."

Beth nodded, giving her a very tight smile. Giving a talk was the last thing she wanted to do right now––

"Remember..." Lexie quipped, the light dancing through her eyes as she, too, remembered the mantra that had built between them. She raised her hands, shaking them in support, "Hot shit!"

It made Beth's smile turn wry.

Hot shit.

"It's only twenty people," She repeated, mostly to herself than to the two of them, "Save your luck, I'll be okay."

But then she saw the look on Mark's face. Just a glance. He was staring at her, eyes ever slightly narrowed as he glanced between the two of them, all as if a budding friendship between the two brunettes was the last thing in the world he could ever want.

Yeah, Beth reminded herself as she gave him a parting, bitter smile, I'm hot fucking shit and I'm coming back to kick your ass.

─────

𝑾𝑬𝑳𝑳𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑺 𝑪𝑯𝑬𝑪𝑲𝑷 𝑶𝑰𝑵𝑻 . . . ❜

HI ˇ⋆ ╱
this a wellness point.
take a break if you need it.

i know this is long chapter, i know it's a lot.
go get a snack or a drink.
make sure you're sitting comfortably.
stretch your legs out, maybe put on some music.
please don't strain yourself.

if you're a binge reader who has been here for a while, i know it's late
this will be here in the morning, please take care and get some sleep.

─────

Oh.

Beth stared around the corner of the stage, watching as seats gradually filled across the hospital auditorium. 

She clutched her notes in one hand, a coffee in the other, and held on tight until she felt her heartbeat in her fingers–– ever so often, her eyes would flicker up towards the back exits, as if, at some point, someone would rush in and announce that they'd gotten the wrong place.

Who would've thought? This wasn't Owen Hunt's talk on triage surgical technology in warzones... it was just––

"How are we feeling?"

George appeared backstage, sporting the widest smile he could possibly manage, just as he always did. Beth didn't look back at him; her eyes were still stuck on the growing audience. She didn't see how his smile wavered slightly as she didn't acknowledge him. 

He repeated himself once and then twice––

We?

"That's not twenty people."

She almost didn't recognise her own voice.

It was slightly strangled, chipped in between clenched teeth as her eyes continued to strain through the auditorium. 

A pit of dread was stirring in her stomach, expanding over every organ and working its way, ever so surely, upwards.

If she'd glanced backwards, she would have caught how George's brow furrowed slightly, caught off-guard by her behaviour. 

She was visibly tensed, heart in her mouth and breath just very gently laboured.

"It's not," George agreed very slowly. He glanced over his shoulder as if to see whether anyone else was experiencing this: Beth, rigid to the eye and glued to the floor. His eyes squinted very slightly to recall the figure, "It's two-fifty, actually. It's like a... it's like a whole high school graduation out there––"

His joke fell flat.

"As in two hundred?" Beth asked quietly, feeling her stomach clench, "As in two-hundred-and-fifty doctors?"

"Give or take," the surgical intern said back breezily, "I think there's still some psychiatrists from Virgina Mason that haven't RSVP'd––"

"Oh fuck," Beth mumbled to herself.

She hadn't anticipated that many people.

George's brow furrowed very slightly. 

(In retrospect, Beth wasn't sure what the biggest giveaway was in this situation; the fact that her skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat that was sponsored by a very guttural stress response, or the fact that the coffee cup in her hand was very slowly condensing under her iron grasp. Either way, George seemed to sense something was wrong.)

"Are you––"

Beth just sighed.

"Do you want me to––"

"I'm fine," Beth said, the phrase easier to her than breathing. "Everything's fine it's just..." She blinked once and then twice, "Everything is fine."

Fine. It seemed to trigger something in her brain, causing her muscles to unlock and her eyes tear away from their forlorn stare.

"Beth––"

"I mean it," She stressed, "It's just... it's just a little bit bigger than I was expecting."

Oh fuck that, it was a lot fucking bigger than she'd expected it to be.

Katherine Wyatt hadn't been exactly specific, and Beth wondered whether the pit of dread at the bottom of her stomach was her fault, her ignorance about these sorts of things.

Doctor Wyatt had thrown around words like casual and calm and Beth had assumed that it would be exactly that – yet, now, Beth squinted at the sea of heads, the lighting that was very efficiently being adjusted to shine down on her, and she figured that something must have been lost, at least somewhere, in translation.

"Oh," George blinked at her, caught off-guard. His round doe eyes that seemed to never leave the corner of her peripheral vision. "Well I can talk to someone about––"

"I said I'm fine," Beth repeated, a little sharper than the first time, despite how tight her chest was, "You don't need to do anything or talk to anyone. This is all fine."

(He didn't really believe that..)

As Beth ran over her notes, George was there. The more he hung around at her heel, the more she was incapable of ignoring him, of ignoring it.

(What?)

(Answer: that glimmer in Archer's eye and the soft shake of his head with that little, sordid smile.)

(He's got a crush on you––)

(Would you give it up with that already, Arch?)

(I will when you admit you see it too––)

"How's the celebrity doing?"

George's observation of Beth's preparation was not alone–– from out the shadows strolled the nurse from earlier, Eli. 

His eyebrows raised as he watched her pace a line into the floor, staring down at her cards as she tried to cram the words into her brain. A low whistle fell past his lips, and his brow furrowed and he turned his head, very slightly to the side.

The brunette didn't even acknowledge him.

"Shit," He said after a moment, "You gonna explode, Montgomery?"

George shook his head.

"She's not going to explode––"

"Oh right," Eli looked to his left, over at the intern standing a head shorter than him, "You told me about your shadow––"

The comment was (bashfully) ignored.

"She's not going to explode."

"Her face is going red very slowly––"

"She's got this, she's going to be fine––"

"I can hear you guys. You know that, right?"

Beth didn't look up from her cards as she said it, chipping it between her teeth as if she was holding onto the edge of a very tall cliff. Her coffee was by her feet, and she precariously stepped over it, her shoes squeaking against the floor as she trod a little too heavily.

"That's a relief, actually," Eli drawled, raising his chin to stare over at her, "I thought hearing and listening was part of the whole shrink job description––"

"What's brought you out of the world of bedpans and sponge-baths?" Beth asked, talking over his dry comment as George just sighed between them. "Isn't there a patient somewhere that needs some ice chips or something––?"

"I came here on Archer's behalf to tell you to break a leg," was Eli's reply. He shrugged, "By the looks of it, I'd be doing you a favour by pushing you off the stage and getting that femur snapped––"

"I don't need any favours," Beth reiterated, eyes bouncing firmly between the two men, "I'm fine."

(Sure, yeah. Sure... Yeah... Yeah, sure. Beth was fine.)

(It was just a room full of people... it was just a room full of two hundred people... all of whom had gone out of their way to come watch her speak... two hundred highly educated individuals who had been doing this way longer than she had... two hundred pale faces waiting on her every syllable... every single eye and judgement and... Yeah, she was fine.)

"See," George echoed, raising a hand, "She's fine!"

"I know she's already white... I don't think her face is supposed to be that white."

"She's going to do great––"

"Clearly, someone's had their morning coffee––"

"I've given like a hundred speeches before," Beth cut them off, "I mean... I'm a Montgomery, right? I'm a psychiatrist... I was a medical student for what felt like a hundred fucking years... It's not like... It's not like I haven't spoken to people before––"

"Exactly," George championed once again, raising his hands up in support, "You're going to be amazing––"

"––it's just never been this many."

Beth's addition made the two bystanders pause. 

Eli's face was scrunched up very slightly, his brow furrowed almost skeptically. He stared at the woman he only knew from early morning calls and coffee breaks, now dressed a little too poignantly and with a little too much class. 

George, meanwhile, let his hands very slowly sink.

"Jesus," Eli murmured lightly to himself, "She's going to crash and burn."

"She's not going to––"

"Look at her."

The candid truth was that Beth was a lot more fucked up about this than she'd expected. 

Hidden behind her nonchalant smile was a complex cocktail of imposter syndrome, over-caffeination and what Beth was sure, probably a handful of undiagnosed mental illness, all with a tiny umbrella. She'd spent the last three minutes scrambling over what exactly this talk wanted from her–– didn't these people know what they were getting themselves into?

She was a disgraced surgeon... a psychiatrist that barely anyone wanted to hire. Hell, she'd killed a guy! Why the hell did they want to hear from her?

"It's going to be okay," George said very evenly, talking to her as if she were a wild animal that was bound to bolt at any moment. 

Beth just closed her eyes, very briefly massaging her eyelids until she saw stars. 

    He gently stepped towards her, attempting to place his arm on her shoulder, "You've got this... okay? You're you... right? Remember everything that Izzie said about––"

No, she really didn't need to be reminded of Izzie right now. Not with how she'd looked at her–– like Beth was the sort of person who had all of the answers to the universe.

She stepped back, shooting him a very bitter, strained look and shook her head.

"Who even is this guy?"

Eli's head cocked towards the surgical intern that seemed to be a perpetual ray of sunshine. His eyebrows were raised

"This is George," Beth introduced only fleetingly, "Eli, George... George, Eli. Eli, George is a surgical intern and George, Eli is a nurse in the ICU who's been helping my brother––"

"I know who he is," George said quickly, a red rush in his cheeks.

"I should have known," Eli mumbled, at the same time, "All buddy-buddy with with Stevens... yeah, now the over-the-top optimism makes a lot of sense now––"

"Great," Beth breathed out, her lips stretched into a wide, sardonic smile, "Now maybe you'll both shut up for a moment so I can memorise my speech in peace and not look like a dumbass when I go out there and blank––"

Eli's head, once again, tilted to the side.

"You already kinda look like a dum––"

"Thanks so much for the support, Eli," She chipped in between his response, her teeth lightly coated with venom, "Thanks so much for your help but if you finish that sentence, I will throw something at you and it will hurt... a lot––"

The nurse just blinked at her. His eyes, very slowly, dropped to the cards in her hands.

"Well," He commented after a few moments, "That sounds like a healthy mental state right there." Then a pause. His eyebrows raised. "What are you doing your lecture on again?"

Beth's smile strained.

"Don't––"

"If you're nervous, it's completely natural," George began.

"I'm not nervous––"

"Hm," Eli hummed to himself, "and I'm not really regretting using my lunch break for a nap right now."

"A Montgomery doesn't get nervous––"

"Yeah, and until like two weeks ago you didn't think a Montgomery could get brain worms, either––"

(That was Eli.)

"It's still completely natural––"

(That was George.)

"Don't school me on human behaviour, okay?"

(And that, growing frustrated, was Beth.)

"I wasn't trying to––"

"George I just need a couple of moments to just think for myself––"

"Okay, do you want me to go get a refill of your coffee or––"

"Jesus Christ, No, I just need you to leave just for a moment––"

It was stifling. She was stifled.

"I can go––"

"No, just leave for a moment and just––"

"Do you need me to go get your brother?"

Eli's question made Beth pause. 

She found herself staring at him, a man who had become a very steady face in a world that wouldn't stop spinning around her. His eyebrows were still aloft, chin raised slightly and eyes calculating as he watched her pause mid shake of her head.

She'd been asked that before. On the edge of crowded New York restaurants where the lights had been so dim she'd struggle to keep an eye on where she stepped, on the edge of unfriendly faces that had made her stomach twist and her fingers shake a lil–– on the gilded edge of a certain man's smirk as he challenged her with sparkling eyes.

You can't handle this alone. You need someone to hold your hand.

Her first instinct was Charlie. 

It had been that way for a while. When Archer had faded into a name on her contact list and New York had been nothing but a bad dream, Charlie had been the creasing smile in the corner of her lip and the encouraging words in her ear. He was soft, he was warm and he would have known exactly what she needed to hear. He would have held her hand and held it tight––

But god, wasn't Beth so fucking sick of people holding her hand.

She flexed her fingers, as if she could still feel a light, professional touch. 

That of a man who spent his days with perfect sutures, gentle scalpel sweeps and delicate turns–– all of which did not match the dirty edges of his sordid smirk.

"Oh fuck this," Beth breathed to herself.

She needed a cigarette.

Well, actually, she needed a lot more than a cigarette but she'd been forced to downsize.

She took in a deep breath and collected her cards, ignored the crease in between George's eyebrows and denied Eli's offer. Beth's pep talk came in a tumble of words at the back of her skull, silent and fleeting:

You're hot shit. Hot Shit. Get your Hot Shit together.

Not only was she a Montgomery that didn't get nervous, she was also a Montgomery that knew their worth.

Rational thoughts were cherry picked a little too eagerly: sure, this was fucking terrifying and confusing, but people were here for a reason, if not for her but the organisation she worked for–– these people needed her help and not anyone elses––

"Hi."

Her smile was frozen onto her face as she gazed up through the powerful conference lights, all of which left dark, pulsing holes in her peripheral vision. 

Before she'd been able to talk herself out of it, she was standing there, on the stage, at the podium, with her nails dug so deeply into the wooden structure that her nail beds almost buckled.

A sea of expectant faces stared back at her.

"Hi," She repeated and her voice still sounded foreign to her. 

It was slightly twisted at the edges, strangled by a lump at the back of her throat that wouldn't quite budge. Even so, Beth's eyes, flickered across every single head, mentally counting the moments until they expected her to say something more. 

   "Thanks for coming."

To the left, just a step forward from the shadows, George and Eli stood a good distance apart, the two of them watching as she kept herself upright out of sheer willpower. As she held Eli's eye for a little too long, the nurse gave her a light nod, on Archer's behalf.

This was okay... she was going to be okay...

On the other side of the auditorium, stood Doctor Wyatt, but Beth tried not to look at her much.

"My name is Doctor Elizabeth Montgomery..."

She continued speaking, wondering, silently, how Addison had enjoyed things like this. 

All eyes on her, all attentions suspended on the twitch of her smile. Beth had the proclivity to ask them to look away. 

(The longer they looked, the more likely they were to notice her imperfections–– her chipped and very weathered edges.)

No, she could do this... she could manage a joke...

Beth supposed she'd enjoyed it once too. 

It wasn't particularly interesting, what Beth had to say, but she knew that it was important.

It was the amalgamation of nearly three and a half years of field work, of holding peoples hands as they struggled through their worst times... it was the last two weeks that she'd spent with Oscar Afualo, talking him through his memories that were shrouded in pain and suffering–– and Beth spoke with a lot of passion for the people that had hurt the most.

And boy, didn't she speak.

She'd always had a lot to say, no matter the occasion, Beth knew that. By two minutes in, her voice filled the whole room. Eyes were trapped on her like flies to honey, people hanging onto her every word as she ran through basics of trauma recovery.

They responded well to her, oblivious of the fact that sometimes she felt like one of the worst doctors in the world; oblivious to the fact that for eight hours in a hospital deposition in New York, she had been. 

They smiled at her and she smiled back––

And then her eyes caught on a lone figure at the back of the auditorium.

Beth hadn't noticed him enter, but when she realised he was there, she couldn't look away. 

She wondered if noticing him made her visibly falter, like a flinch at a sudden closing door. But, either way, suddenly, her words felt a little too big for her mouth.

Derek Shepherd's chin raised as he watched her from the shadows, arms crossed over his chest and eyes, very slightly, sparkling. He met her gaze and, for the first time in a week since he'd attempted to goade her into relapsing, Beth felt small.

Well fuck.

No matter how on top of the world a little podium in a room of interested eyes she felt, there was always one single glance that could make her come tumbling down.

It was a falter, for just a second. A breath hitched at the back of her throat.

And then Beth continued.

She continued until she was finished: lips slightly chapped, mouth slightly dry and palms still reasonably clammy from the continuous shuffling of cards. 

She gave the audience a silver tipped smile, gums aching as they thanked and applauded her for her time –– a question and answer session was light and brief, as was the crooked grin on Wyatt's face as the psychiatrist vocalised her thanks.

Her exit, however, didn't come silently:

"You did really well––"

"Thank you, George."

"I mean it... you just... you really know your stuff––"

"Thanks, George––"

"You're an incredible psychiatrist––"

"Thank you––"

And then he paused.

"Do you know how long you're going to be in Seattle for––?"

"I don't think that's––"

"Because I was thinking maybe some time we could..."

"George, I'm not––"

"Well, I... I, uh...I wanted to ask you if you'd––?"

"Beth."

She stalled in her step and her shadow almost buckled into the back of her. 

For a moment, however, George was the least of her concerns. Her head raised to look at the man standing on the other side of the side room. 

They were just a few paces off of the stage. Beth hadn't made it very far at all––

It wasn't a wonder that Derek had caught up so quickly.

For a moment, all Beth could do was stand and stare at him. 

She blinked at him, once and then twice, as if she was desperate for anything but a crisis in the middle of the woods. When she inhaled, the air felt noticeably damp, as if moss had eaten its way into the walls and the floors–– George, very indignantly, looked in between the two of them, his jaw slackening as he felt a slight tension come to a simmer.

"I liked your talk."

Derek's words went ignored.

"I thought it was good."

Beth just stared.

He had a soft smile on his face, the sort that made her stomach twist into awkward shapes.

"I really liked the analysis of Oscar Afaulo's amnesia," Derek continued, despite the fact that Beth had given him nothing to work with. "I thought it was a very thoughtful and well discussed piece of research––"

"Your, uh, your coffee is getting cold."

George seemed to suffer the most in between them, nervously inclining his head in the direction of the coffee in her hand. 

Beth's head dropped to look down at it, as if her whole world was just a tiny bit out of touch; she blinked it at just as Derek cleared his throat.n that moment, she couldn't quite afford to give him anything other part of her.

"O'Malley," Derek said very softly, stepping to one side with a hand in his pocket, "Can we have the room for a sec––"

"No, O'Malley," Beth chipped out before Derek could even finish his sentence, "Stay."

She watched Derek's blue eyes ripple with a guilt that made her throat tighten, but Beth didn't budge. 

Again, her lungs were full of pondweeds and mildew and the acidic taste of bile and horror –– she was standing just as she had outside his trailer, shoulders tensed and eyes unblinking as she stared her ex-brother-in-law down.

"Beth, can we just––"

"Beth, do you want me to––"

Both of their sentences were cut short and Beth heaved a sigh. 

Each of their heads turned to follow the screech of a pager, watching as George drew it out of his pocket and checked it. His mouth twisted into something apologetic and Beth, ever so briefly, closed her eyes. 

He apologised and hurried out the door.

Great, the one time I actually want him here he's just...

"Beth..."

"No."

That's how the exchange started.

Beth shook her head and she said a word she didn't often say to Derek Shepherd: No.

Two letters that carried a lot and came with the distinctive welling of pond water in her tear ducts. A forrest mist cluttered her eyes. She blinked and shook her head.

"No, Derek."

Fuck, she didn't want it to be true but what Derek had done really had her by the throat. 

In between Archer, Mark and that look in Derek's eye as he lamented over his losses, out of everything, that's what had tripped Beth up the most. 

She didn't exactly know how to tell Derek how badly she'd wanted to take that bottle. She didn't exactly know how to tell Derek how much he'd made her hate herself for it––

But then again, she was pretty sure that had been the point.

"I need to talk to you about the other night––"

"What do you mean?" Beth asked, her head tilted to the side. She bit into the side of her cheek.

"The whole thing with the––"

"Oh," A bitter chuckle fell past her lips and she nodded a little too enthusiastically, "Right... Yeah, you being a sad bastard. The whole woe is me... Yeah... I'm with you."

Someone had to say it. She'd said it before and she was saying it now, mirth in her eyes and blood between her teeth. 

She had to say it. She knew Meredith wouldn't; she liked the blonde, but she'd also watched her fumble with Derek, completely bewildered by his rusty wheels. 

Beth would be the bad cop here. Just as she had in the forest. She was good at the bad cop.

She'd always been the bad cop.

Her ex-brother-in-law let out a sigh.

"I don't think you understand––"

"I'm not a kid, Derek," was all Beth could say.

"But I don't think––"

"You don't think I haven't wanted to blow off life for a week to drink?" She almost scoffed it out, eyebrows raised, "You're preaching to the goddamn choir, Shep. You don't think I wanted to take that bottle?"

He didn't breathe for at least ten seconds.

She hoped he'd realised that, how in amongst his angst and his anger and his fury, his behaviour had been unacceptable. The same imposter syndrome that had rendered her lethargic on that podium, now made her limbs stiff. Derek sighed very softly to himself once again.

It was then that she realised he was in his work uniform.

It was as if it had never happened. 

There he was, clean-shaven, spotless and completely unscathed–– God, what was it with these people and everything feeling like it never even happened––?

Instead of speaking, he just stared at her.

He didn't have words to say, but he tried his best.

"Beth I don't––"

Beth shook her head to his plea.

"Do you know how fucked it is that I have to be the one to tell you to get your life together?"

Why am I the one that gives out life advice? Why me?

She wasn't better than him, that was for sure. 

She didn't have any sort of moral high ground here. It was hard to be mad at a man who had once held her together. He'd scooped her up in the palm of his hand and pressed the jagged edges that Mark had left, and tried his best. 

It hadn't worked, but he'd tried; just as Beth had for him.

Grief manifests in many different ways, Beth had said as she'd looked across the room, lights in her eyes, It's fascinating how differently people can cope with it.

With that thought, she felt her temper dwindle very slightly in the centre of her chest.

"Are you at least okay?" was what Beth said now, hands on her hips as she looked over at him, "Are you sober... are you clean––?"

"I am."

"How many hours?"

"Two days."

She ran a hand across her forehead.

"You're a dumbass."

It wasn't particularly professional, but it was the best she could manage. 

The rage that was reserved for Mark got tangled in with the frustration of not being enough, of not having enough. She felt just as she did in that room with a battered and bruised neurosurgeon and his cautious wife.

"You're such a goddamn dumbass, Derek."

He nodded his head, his lip twitching.

"You're annoying and you're so fucking frustrating––"

"I know."

"You're stupid and you're going to get yourself hurt––"

"I know."

"You're going to ruin your life if you're not careful––"

"Yeah."

"That cheap ass fucking beer, what were you even thinking?"

"I don't think I was."

And then Beth chewed on the inside of her cheek, a breath shuddering slightly between her lips. The words came out with that breath, with all of the relief that she could fit in between his audacity and the gaping black hole in the centre of her chest:

"You always were the dramatic one," That was more of a sigh. She was incapable of voicing her concern any other way, "Y'know, sometimes I wonder why the hell you ever married Addie and then you pull shit like that and I realise that––"

"Beth."

He said her name so gently that she felt the air leave her body. 

The ramble that was trying to make sense of all of this pent up frustration, dissipated on her tongue. She held her breath and, with a very gradual shrug, Beth felt her temper simmer out––

"I'm glad you're okay."

A very slight, small smile picked at the corner of his mouth. It glimmered through his baby blues and into the tilt of his head.

"Yeah," He said, his voice hushed, "Me too."

Almost awkwardly, Beth shifted her weight from one foot to the other. 

There was still the very faint sound of broken sticks under her shoe, the crunch of leaves and the rush of dew against her cheeks. She nodded, almost listlessly and wiped clammy palms against her pant leg.

"You're still a dick," Beth felt the need to make that very clear.

"Yeah," Derek nodded again, his hands buried deep in his pockets, "I am."

"And you're an ass––"

"Yeah," He repeated, "You're right."

"Yeah," Beth said, incapable of anything else, "I am."

Derek smiled at the floor.

It was a faintly sad smile.

"You were also right about a lot of other things," He began and Beth got the feeling that he'd practised this in the mirror this morning while brushing his teeth. He squinted at the back wall as if to remember it. "It's annoying too, actually––"

"Yeah, well," Beth's head tilted to the side, "I've been told you get over it eventually––"

"I am so sorry, Beth."

His apology came in a whisper. 

It came with a handful of steps as he walked towards her. 

Gone was the feeling of flying that had gripped her as she held onto the podium.

It was the sort of apology she'd needed from Addison. It was the sort of apology that Beth had craved from Mark, and now it came in the form of someone who seemed to actually mean it. Beth's knees almost went weak.

Her eyes stared at him.

He just stared back.

"The whole thing with the bottle... your sobriety... Beth, I am so, so sorry––"

"Derek––"

"You're right, I was a dick––"

And then Beth hugged him.

She wasn't sure who the hug was for more; her or him? 

Was it to chase away that guilt in his eyes or satisfy the craving of a girl who couldn't hug her own brother? 

Was it to stop his pain in its path or to indulge in the need for someone to tether her?

Beth didn't have the patience to find out.

All she knew was that she reached out for the man who was like her brother and tried to fit him into her chest. 

A part of her wanted to find a space for him, just behind his ribs in a place where she could keep him tight and away from the same impulses that had dragged her down and down and down–– the other part felt dread in the way he smiled against her shoulder.

As she stared across him, Beth thought about how quickly things went away here. It was as if Seattle had a magic touch... events flickered away with no consequences and words blew away on the wind. 

Affairs sunk behind pointed, expectant stares and beer bottles got pushed aside with the back of Derek Shepherd's heel.

"It wasn't fair––"

"You can't just do that, Derek."

Her voice was hushed too, caught up in the lump at the back of her throat. She kept her eyes on the floor and shook her head for what felt like the thousandth time. Fingers fumbled against each other.

He couldn't just do that... Not to her.

"I know."

He knew.

A bone was loose somewhere in her chest. She could feel it catch on her every breath.

"You were right," Derek said, "You were right... I'm sorry––"

"It's okay," Beth said, despite how much it didn't feel that way. "It's okay."

Derek was different from other people. Beth knew that.

He was family in the way that Addison wasn't. He had never done wrong by her, not until he'd gotten drunk and things had gotten out of hand, and Beth knew that he only wanted the best for her –– or at least, that's what she told herself as she forgave him.

She accepted his apology and she hugged him tightly.

(Maybe she needed him more than she realised?)

(Or maybe she was just, already, holding too many grudges for her body to carry.)

"Meredith said that I need to get my crap together," Derek said, as Beth asked what it was that had dragged him out of his funk. "She said that you inspired her... she turned up and she kicked my ass and now I'm––"

"You're back?"

"I'm back."

To that, Beth managed her own smile.

"God," She said, "Archer's gonna have a bad day when he finds out."

"Well," Derek chuckled, "You were right about him too–– I saved his life, didn't I? I achieved the impossible––"

"Yeah, not for very much longer if you keep saying that," Beth almost tsked, thinking of her brother and his animosity. "And the last thing we need is you getting an ego right now. Mark already has that down pat..."

"I'll try my best."

"Thanks."

"Of course."

And then there was a pause.

As Beth turned away to finish gathering her belongings, Derek paused. 

He paused for a while, as if things weren't completely settled. (In retrospect, Beth would wonder if he hadn't completely left that forest. She'd found that places like that, after all, were almost impossible to abandon for good.) He cleared his throat and adjusted his posture.

"I, uh, I meant what I said about your lecture," A grimace passed over Beth's face, but her back was turned to him. She found herself intently listening to his words as she organised and packed her notes. "I thought it was really good. You have a lot of good work––"

"Thank you," Beth answered, with the disinterest that she'd given George.

"You really did all that?" Derek asked, and when she glanced back at him, his eyebrows were raised. "While you were gone? You really did all of that?"

"Yeah," was her slow response. She turned to face him, brow furrowed, "I did more... I mean, I only talked about Oscar and a mass shooting." Her head tilted to the side, a slight curiosity welling in her chest, "What did you... What did you think I was doing?"

Once again, he paused.

It was too long of a pause.

Beth felt a chill creep across her skin.

Then, a little too quickly, he shrugged.

"I don't know," Derek said, despite the fact that Beth got the feeling that he did.

She, also, got the feeling that it didn't involve anything sober.

"Retraining into a whole different field of work though," He continued when Beth found herself filled with dread once again. She tried to shake it off, "That's really impressive Beth. You've clearly worked really hard––"

"Yeah, well," It was her turn to shrug, "You know what they say. When you hit rock bottom, you've got a crap tonne of rocks... Might as well build something out of it––"

"And you built that?"

She was caught off-guard by the look in his eye. 

On paper, it looked like a condescending question, the type that was passive aggressive and too much to swallow. But, in execution, it was hushed and it was impressed and it was the closest Beth had gotten to professional validation from a family member in a very long time.

She felt her heart swell as quickly as it had deflated.

God, Lexie was right, She really was hot shit.

"Yeah," Beth said quietly, a proud smile on her lips, "Yeah, I did."

Derek just nodded softly, his grin crooked.

"Good job, kid."

To that, she tried her best to roll her eyes.

"Don't get all mushy with me, Shep––"

Maybe their conversation would have gone further, but Beth cut herself short when she saw the time. Just as she had gazed at the clock above the nurses' station, she now caught sight of the little number in the corner of her cell phone. 

Her stomach twisted and she stuffed it back into her pocket.

"I've got to go."

Derek's brow furrowed, "They give you a pager already?"

"No," Beth said, "It's 2'o'clock. I've got an appointment––"

"An appointment?" He echoed, sounding bewildered, "What for?"

To that, Beth couldn't help but smirk as she backed out of the door.

A temper was stoking its flames in her chest, right where her heart once had lived.

"Well," Beth said with hell on her heels, "If it all goes to plan–– making a grown man cry."

──────

　　AUTHORS NOTE ! . . .
hello! i'm still alive!
in my break from flatline i posted a jackson avery fanfiction called talking bodies. it's pretty cool and i think you should check it out!
anyway,, next chapter is literally endless bark angst as beth gives mark hell (finally!)
see you soon :)

WORD COUNT ! . . 11700
REWRITTEN ON 30TH OF MAY 2022