Chapter Nine

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The pounding in her head that Ophelia woke with was a key hangover note. She glanced to the side of her bed and saw three empty wine bottles there. Yup, that was a good source. She groaned, rolling over, not wanting to leave her bed for anything in the world. At least this time there wasn't a stranger sleeping in the bed beside her. That was a small satisfaction. Her alarm was still wailing like an upset child and she slammed her hand down on it, silencing the beeping. She pushed herself up in her bed and stared at the clock accusingly. But there was no stopping time, and it was time to get ready for work.

Thankfully, she had placed a large glass of water beside her bed before passing out. Smart thinking, drunk Lia, smart thinking. She picked up the glass, pulled a bottle of ibuprofen out of her side table, and downed two with the whole glass of the clear liquid. Thankfully, wine had never given her an upset stomach before, just a dull headache. She still had a few hours before work, by the time she had finished her morning run and drank several more glasses of water, she should be fine.

Though 'fine' was a pretty relative term, because she wasn't really feeling all that fine outside of her hangover. She was feeling tired and very, very sad. Disappointment wasn't often something she was burdened with, but it felt like she was hiking with a pack of rocks now.

But she got up, like she always did. She went on a short run, drank water, put on smooth black dress pants and a soft grey top that Mark had gotten her two birthdays ago, and she went to work, like she always did.

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Ophelia made her way into the break room, coffee in hand, headphones jammed tightly into her ears, music keeping her calm. There was no point in even letting the thought of Jackson Avery break down her walls any more. It was Ophelia Sloan's traditional fight or flight tactic. Ignore the problem until she doesn't have to face it anymore because it has simply gone away. She had learned it from her mother, Mark had the trait as well. And frankly, Ophelia was fine if this was her defense mechanism. She wasn't thrilled about the prospect of crying at work. Crying at all, really. She never liked people seeing her as 'weak.' That sort of thing happened when you lived around your older brother and his friends all of your young adult life. One tends to grow a thick shell, or put up strong walls.

But if there was one thing she couldn't block out of her day, it was the settlement meeting going on that evening. Meredith still thought she should come, and Lia couldn't decide if she could bring herself to do so. To listen to an entire room of people discuss the death of her elder brother. To listen to them speak about him as if they knew him, when they so obviously did not. She sighed, taking a sip of her black coffee and tucking her belongings into her cubby. It was going to be a long, long day, trying to figure out how to handle that meeting. She knew that there was a soft, pink dress tucked in her bag, waiting to be put on if she decided she could make it through the whole thing. While she stared at her small cubbyhole, she could feel a set of eyes burning into her back. Without even turning around, she knew it was him.

She took another deep, long drink of her bitter coffee and sighed, turning around to meet Jackson Avery's gaze. His stormy eyes were locked on her, arms crossed over his shoulders. April was standing next to him, gabbing away at something he very clearly wasn't paying any attention to. The only thing in the room he was seeing was her. Ophelia could feel her cheeks grow slightly red, but she wasn't about to let him get to her. Tossing her black hair over her shoulder, she flashed Jackson a wink before walking straight out of the room. She had work to do. Projects to research.

One of the large tasks Weber had given her was going over case files that used to be Mark's. If she didn't have a surgery to prep for, she was allowed to hole herself away in an empty room and pour over his notes. Apparently, he had been working on a knew technique, the Sloan Technique, and she was looking for any information on it. No one even knew what it was. Honestly, for a while, everyone honestly thought he was just referencing a move he made in the bedroom. But they had all been wrong, Ophelia just needed enough evidence to back it up. And that's what she was just going to have to focus on today. Unless any emergencies came in, Lia was free to focus on those case notes.

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