Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬𝟳𝟵 silver spring

𝙇𝙓𝙓𝙄𝙓.
(YOU COULD BE MY) SILVER SPRING

──────

NEW YORK

"You're an asshole, you know that?"

He'd realised that she'd stopped walking a few moments before she'd yelled at him. 

She'd dropped back a few steps and then, with the chaos of a true New Yorker, had just let him have it, right in the middle of downtown. She'd stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, thrown her arms down and yelled it across the street.

Beth's words slurred slightly. 

She was drunk. He was drunk too. 

He supposed that that, in the heat of things, truly was a recipe for disaster. 

She was yelling her lungs raw, causing only the briefest of glances (people in the city were used to this sort of thing, they barely even caused a stir) but managing to rile herself up enough that Mark had to stop too, letting out a long, annoyed breath that condensed on the cold air. 

She was waiting for him to turn around, but he didn't-- he let her let off her own steam.

"I know you can hear me-"

(That was Beth, again. She wasn't quite finished.)

They'd been out for the evening. Addison had cancelled a table at La Grenouille last minute (despite the fact that it was the first time they'd all had a night off at the same time in weeks and Mark, admittedly, had actually been looking forwards to catching up with everyone), so, Beth had nonchalantly suggested going clubbing. 

At first, Mark had been extremely against the idea but she could be persuasive when she wanted to be-- that had resulted in some overcast nightclub and the realisation that clubbing wasn't just clubbing. 

Without even realising what was going on, Mark had ended up at a table in a club sat beside Amelia Shepherd, watching the supposedly recovered alcoholic do shots.

"Asshole--"

And why was he an asshole? He'd said he didn't like her friends.

He'd grabbed Beth as they all disappeared to the restroom and he'd told her, very firmly, that they needed to leave. 

He couldn't be here, he couldn't watch his best friend's sister act as if Derek hadn't been putting himself through hell trying to get her sober. It had made him feel dirty, feel unclean. He needed to tell Derek-- he needed to-- God, Mark didn't know what to do--

That's what he was thinking about as Beth scoffed at him and yelled. 

They'd made it a block and a half, Mark dragging her the whole time. He'd gripped her wrist so tightly, telling her over and over that she didn't belong in a place like that. In response, she'd writhed and told him that he was an asshole over and over and over-- Drunk Beth didn't understand. He wasn't thinking about her words, he wasn't thinking about her, he was thinking about Derek and the fact that Amy was very much not sober at all. 

Although, to be fair, neither were they.

"Fuck this," Beth exclaimed. 

She seemed to be angry at the fact that his mind was elsewhere. He was still turned away from her, completely distracted by his inner turmoil. She glowered lines in his shoulder blades, so heated that he could very faintly feel his shirt smoulder.