Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬𝟮𝟬 heroes & heretics

"Then why do it at all?"

Addison was stumped at that. 

As I reached the subway, passed my ticket through the gate (I pressed my phone to my shoulder with my cheek and awkwardly slammed it in much to the amusement of the attendant) and began my daily commute across the city towards the hospital that I was interning at, there was static across the phone. I rolled my eyes, moving with the flow of traffic as I joined the hundreds of people that used the Manhattan-bound subway every day.

Finally, when I reached my platform, a sigh filled the line. "Derek's being weird."

I barely batted an eyelash at that; of course, he was, that was the Addison Montgomery code. Whenever something went wrong in her perfect little life, she threw herself into something. Back in high school, with the desolation of our parent's marriage, it had been her education. 

But here, Addison was flying face forwards into a budding career as an event planner.

And this was the third event she'd hosted this month.

"Derek's always weird," I said back to her, almost indifferently.

Over the last three years, in which Addison and Derek had been married, I'd grown to notice things about Derek that Addison possibly didn't. He, like Addie, liked to throw himself to things, but he didn't just do it when he was distressed. 

He was consumed by his work, twenty-four hours, seven days a week. It was almost a part of him, he was always putting in overtime and dedicating himself to post-ops, case studies and the odd drug trial, even.

Derek was always weird because that's what Derek was. Weird.

"Yeah, I know I-"

"You don't know what you're doing," I interjected, knowing exactly what she was going to say next. "You don't know what you're doing so you're throwing a sudden party with Rose-"

"It's Petunia."

"They're both flowers," I grumbled, standing back as I received a face full of hot air from an oncoming train. "Tomato, tomato."

"No it's Petunia," She put extra stress on the name, as if that was going to mean something to me. If she'd been standing in front of me, Addison would have been scowling at the blank look that rippled across my face. "Petunia Vanderbilt the girl that I went to college with—she's the one that was married to Nathaniel, the dentist and got divorced just before my wedding-" Addison paused. "The one that made out with Mark at my rehearsal."

"Ah," I humoured her briefly, once again rolling my eyes. Sarcasm was thick in my voice as I adopted a more brash tone. "I remember the exact girl."

I bit my tongue about commenting about how she reminded me of the sort of stilted ex-wives you'd find at Upper East Side brunches- after all, I'd been that girl with Mark at her renewals. Also, second-wave feminism was inspiring me to stop being so bitter. Yet, Addison still sensed the dislike in my tone.

"Beth-"

"Don't worry Addie, I don't remember her. You know me, I'm terrible with names." 

I actually wasn't terrible at names, I could name a face from when I was in diapers (not literally, but kind of). It was just that Addison had boring friends and her boring friends meant boring conversations and, in boring conversations, my brain turned off.

I could tell Addison wasn't happy with me as she exhaled loudly down the line.

"Please do this for me." When I didn't reply with some sort of obscenity, Addison must have taken it as a yes. "Thank you, I'll buy you a thousand cups of coffee and I'll meet you at lunch to talk stuff out—" There was another pregnant pause on the line before Addison's voice dropped to a hushed whisper. "Are you sleeping with Mark again?"