TRIAGE | grey's anatomy (ON HOLD INDEFINITELY)

017: "ferrari"

"MER, I SWEAR TO SWEET BABY JESUS, IF YOU GET ME SICK I'M LIGHTING ALL YOUR SWEATERS ON FIRE," CLEMENTINE WARNED, TRAILING BEHIND HER ROOMMATE AS THEY ENTERED THE INTERN LOCKER ROOM. She'd driven them both to work that morning, and had dealt with Meredith's groaning about stomach troubles as well as her own raging hangover. Clem was only one cup of coffee in, and her head was pounding for more than one reason. The last thing she needed was a stomach virus.

She groaned as she stripped off her baby blue blouse and baggy black jeans, wishing she'd gone a bit lighter on the margaritas ten hours prior. True to their word, the past few nights Cristina and Meredith had gone out with Clem and tried to help her pick up a one night stand, only after Burke and Izzie were asleep. It was like putting their broken, depressed children to bed then sneaking out for a nightcap. It had gone disastrously each time, to say the least, and had ended with one too many drinks in horny despair. Now, her scalp prickled and the skin above her eyes felt tight, and she popped a few ibuprofen as she grabbed her scrubs. It felt like her head hadn't stopped hurting in days-- which, well, was actually true.

"So Izzie left the house this morning, that's a good sign," George began, and they both turned to watch Meredith swig Pepto-Bismol like it was a milkshake. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Meredith nodded, looking queasy still. "I'm just not feeling like myself."

She'd heard this line all morning. Clem turned to greet Alex with a brief smile as he approached his locker next to hers, holding her hands out greedily for the vanilla latte she'd paged him for. He handed it over dutifully. "O'Malley has that effect on women. Ask Dr. Torres."

George paused, and looked over Clementine's head, who'd frozen mid-chug. It was too early in the morning to be stuck in-between this. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Dude," Alex chuckled, stripping off his jacket and shirt. "You threw her out on her ass."

"Who told you that?"

This time, both Alex and Clem answered. "Torres."

George shot Clem a look, and she shrugged. "Listen, George, I was friends with her first. And you were an asshole, if we're being honest."

Clem had liked living with Callie, albeit briefly. Occasional nudity wasn't an issue for her, seeing as how they were medical professionals, and Callie made the best migas she'd had in years. Plus, all of her hurt feelings could've been avoided if George had simply been honest with her. Clem knew she wasn't one to talk, but it was George. He prided himself on kindness but was unbearably awkward until he blurted his feelings out and ended up hurting the person anyways.

"Don't worry, I get it." Alex's tone of voice made Clem look up from her apple. "She's hot... but she's not hot for you."

George closed his locker and began walking away. "Why is that?"

"'Cause she's hot." Alex made it sound like it was the easiest conclusion in the world.

Clem slapped Alex's bare arms as he laughed at his own joke, rolling her eyes. This was why people thought he was one hundred percent an asshole, instead of maybe a cool fifty-five that was natural-born jerkiness.

Outside in the hall, waiting for Bailey, Clem chugged water at an alarming rate. She hadn't really told anyone, but her head hadn't stopped hurting since she'd slammed into the ambulance door several days earlier. She was scarily good at convincing herself that things weren't what they seemed; like that her omnipresent headache was a result of too much caffeine and finally catching up on her sleep, or that her friendship with Mark Sloan was over as fast as it had came (for an example). Bailey breezed past them, barely pausing to pick up her interns, and quipped about how she was in no mood. Nearly choking on her water, Clem began rushing after her resident, knowing that her own problems would have to wait until her shift was over.