IT WAS HARD FOR CLEM TO BREATHE WITH MARK SLOAN STARING AT HER, LET ALONE TREAT HIM-- WHICH IS SOMETHING SHE WOULD ADMIT, OH, NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS. The air was thin and space was lacking in Sloan's private trauma room (that he insisted on instead of the normal beds that mere mortals used), and as par for the course because he was a doctor, the man was a god-awful patient. He'd fussed about every detail, down to which brand of skin prep Clem was going to use, but that was the limit of their conversations. Instead, Sloan stared through the blinds to where Clem's friends were waiting, spying on their conversation unabashedly. Attempting to keep her cheeks from blushing burgundy, and already dreading the grilling she would get when she exited the room, Clem preferred the silence.
When Meredith returned to the room, having left to get a suture kit, is when Sloan started talking.
"I should've known," Sloan said suddenly, causing both girls to flinch slightly. "Derek and I always did have the same taste in women."
Meredith and Clementine shared one of many looks, the nonverbal yet screaming-loud kind that the twisted triplets excelled at. "Excuse me?"
The man was doing a good job at smoldering while getting a cut cleaned, Clem would give him that. "You're Derek's lusty intern, right? Heard about you all the way back in New York. You're famous."
"Hmm." Meredith didn't look particularly pleased at that one, so Clem dug her q-tip covered in chloroprep a bit deeper into the wound than necessary. When she got a dirty look from the doctor, she smiled apologetically, murmured a saccharine oops. "Well, I heard about you all the way here in Seattle, so I guess we have a lot of common."
Sloan seemed unperturbed. In fact, a little smug. "We're the dirty mistresses!"
"I suppose we are," Meredith said lightly, her eye contact with Clem now sparkling, like she was offering an invitation to join their private club that Clem would oh-so-graciously decline.
"My 400 dollar an hour shrink says that's because behind this rugged and confident exterior, I'm self destructive and self loathing to an almost pathological degree," Dr. Sloan continued, as if his therapist's observations were not a slightly alarming diagnosis but conversation fodder. Clem couldn't help but be amused; she had done the same thing, especially when she was younger.
"Hey, we do have a lot in common. Although, I'm sure Dr. Santos over here could've told you that within a five minute conversation." Clem glared at Meredith for roping her into this conversation, when all she wanted to do was get through wasting her time on Sloan and get back to Jake and her other patients in the Pit. "She's very good at that sort of thing."
Dr. Mark Sloan turned his electric blue gaze on Clementine, his eyes wandering up and down her body like she wasn't watching him do so, in the blatantly lazy way of a man who'd always gotten away with it. "Dr. Santos, huh? I bet you do read people well. Wanna give me a go?"
"I'll pass," Clem said shortly, because she would probably say something unkind in an overtly feministic and subtly unrealistic way. As in, an every woman you fuck and then forget is another dead puppy on the side of the highway kind of thing, which wasn't very fair and also incredibly disturbing, but was how she was feeling. As she was situating local bitch-boy Mark Sloan into his special trauma room, Nurse Elle had flagged her down; Jake's recent reports were looking like the bony tumors were encroaching on his brain, explaining his headaches and his nausea. A tumor resection of that kind was incredibly dangerous. Clem simply didn't have time to deal with Sloan's drama over a facial lac that he most definitely deserved.
It was worth it to see Sloan look slightly taken aback, like that line had actually worked on some women, but he turned to Meredith and continued to stir the pot. "You know it's funny, Derek... Derek walks in on me naked with his wife actually in the throes. And he just turns around and walks away, but he sees me so much as talking to you and I'm on the ground bleeding. Interesting, don't you think?"
Interesting indeed. Sloan was just confirming what Clem already knew and what Mer refused to acknowledge; Derek and Addison were nowhere near the couple that Derek and Meredith could've been-- and one day would be, if Clementine got her way, which was almost always. Meredith didn't say anything, just passed the suture kit to Clementine and excused herself politely.
Clem watched Mer go report to their friends, all grouped behind the nurse's station while she was left alone with McCheater, with a pout to her lips. She opened the sterile pack and started sorting through the sutures, while Sloan turned to her.
"Got a first name, Dr. Santos? I'm imagining something like Isabella or Esmerelda," Sloan purred, and Clem wrinkled her nose. Please, God, make it stop.
"What, do you look up 100 most popular Latina names in your free time? Nice stereotyping," Clem smiled sweetly, her beam not matching her words, and that shut Sloan up nice and tight for a few seconds. She didn't bother telling him she had cousins that were named Isabella and Esme, respectively.
"Touche. But it'd be nice to put a first name to that face..."
"It's Doctor. Doctor Santos," Clem responded smoothly. She was being irrational, and she knew it. But Clem really hated self-important plastic surgeons specifically. "I emerged from the womb holding a scalpel, and my parents decided to name me after the profession they dreamed for me. Ambitious, I know."
Sloan, somehow, was undeterred. Clem's obvious aversion to his charm was like an aphrodisiac for the insufferable man. "I like a woman with salt and secrets."
Clem rolled her eyes and threw a towel down on his annoyingly muscled shoulder. "And I like a man who doesn't speak while I suture his facial lac. Sit still, please, Dr. Sloan."
"What do you think you're doing?" Sloan moved suddenly, shying away from Clementine's hand. A doctor afraid of needles? Please.
"You need stitches." Clem couldn't hide her sarcastic tone, patient care be damned.
"I know. Hand me that mirror."
Clementine knew that she was an intern, a surgical grunt, a nobody. And she also knew, once she connected the dots and overheard several of the ER nurses gossiping, that Mark Sloan was a damn good surgeon, personality deficits not included. But she still smarted at the audacity of this man, to suture his own face.
"I'll have you know that I have the smoothest stitches of any resident. Anyone in this hospital will vouch for me. There was a contest and I won free bagels for a week," Clem responded, arms crossed. She was pouting. In front of a total stranger.
"That's adorable." Clem raised her eyebrow in a warning. "I mean, impressive. Tell you what, I'll let you finish the last stitch, and if it's good enough, I won't sue you."
Clem sighed, grabbing a hand mirror from one of the cabinets. She had places to be and patients to see, after all. "Fine. Sue me?"
Sloan flashed her a brilliant smile. "My hands may be insured for millions, but this face? Priceless."
He was charming, and even though Clem rolled her eyes, she couldn't help but smile a tiny bit. At least it wasn't a sleazy type of charisma, like some of the doctors she'd met, who'd taken one look at her face and asked her if she was OB or Peds. It was a self-assured, over confident type of allurement-- but there were worse things than a manwhore.
She couldn't help but interrupt as he started on his temple. "You're using Vicryl Prolene, right? Not Rapide, because that has a slightly increased rate of infection. And our hospital's policy recently changed to fast-absorbing catgut sutures instead of standard protocol non-absorbable. They're actually more effective."
"You do know I am a Head of Plastic Surgery, right, Santos?" Sloan eyed Clementine. "I helped implement the changes in protocol. But I am impressed you care."
Right. He was more than a pretty face. Clem knew intrinsically that she was doing what other doctors had done to her-- but he made it so easy to only value his looks, when it seemed that that was what he assumed was his only redeeming qualities. Sloan let her finish and tie off the suture, and then pulled back to admire her handiwork.
"Beautifully done," Sloan smiled, tilting his face in the light. His smile was wide and slightly crooked, showcasing white but slightly imperfect teeth. Which was interesting; Clem assumed he'd be made of botox and reconstructed chicken bones or something. "Considering a career in Plastics?"
Clem couldn't help the laugh that burst out. "You mean, do a few elective surgeries a day with smooth jazz in the background and be home by dinner? Yeah, no thank you."
It was the first time Sloan looked slightly offended. "That is not what plastics is about. And what do you have against jazz?"
"Nothing, it's just not my thing," Clem shrugged. She actually did have a particular hatred for smooth jazz... and the plastic surgeon she knew who favored Dave Koz while he did nose jobs. "I've already declared trauma."
"Trauma? You? I assumed you were all meek and kind and quiet, no offense. Not a chaotic girl."
Clem bristled slightly. She did take offense. "You just haven't seen me scream."
"Not yet, you mean. Though I don't intend to do so in the hospital... your place? 10 tonight?" Sloan's blue eyes sparkled, and Clem sighed, her face turning bright red. That one was her fault-- she should've seen it coming from half a mile down the road.
"All right, Dr. Sloan, I believe you are free to go," Clem patted him on the shoulder. "It was nice meeting you. Again."
"I'd actually like an x-ray, if you don't mind. I want to make sure there are no fractures... and, please, call me Mark."
Clem inhaled, trying to calm the storm of feelings running through her. She felt like she owed the man some honesty. "Look, Dr. Sloan. I'm a friend of Meredith's. And Derek's. And, I guess, Addison, too."
Mark quirked his unharmed eyebrow. "That seems awfully conflicting."
"Yeah..." Clem hesitated. It was. Being approachable was getting more and more difficult. "Even as I was saying it I had a hard time believing it. But it's true. Somehow."
"So you're Miss Congeniality," Sloan surmised, quite blatantly choosing to miss the point she was trying to make. "Approachable to all but those who you want to go out with."
Clem couldn't help but laugh. "You're purposely ignoring what I'm trying to say, right? Handy habit."
"So I've been told."
"By the therapist?"
Dr. Sloan shrugged. "Yes. By the therapist."
Clem laughed again. "Regardless of whatever personal feelings I have towards you, and the fact that you're hitting on me twelve seconds after hitting on one of my best friends, I'm still going to give you the professional care you deserve." Emphasis on professional; Clem sure as hell hadn't been attempting to get into his pants this entire time. "But I also have a semi-emergent patient that I need to get to. So, Dr. Karev will be taking you to get your scans done. He's interested in Plastics, anyways."
Clem hadn't asked Alex, but she knew he wouldn't say no. And she really did need to get to Jake.
"You get more and more appealing by the minute, Santos." Was all Sloan said. "Your dedication is insufferably attractive."
There was no stopping this man. It was somewhat impressive, if Clem hadn't known him to be a man who'd messed with a few of her friend's lives with seemingly no remorse. Regardless, she shook her head, smiling, as she opened the door. "Goodbye, Dr. Sloan."
"I'll be seeing you around, Dr. Santos," he replied confidently. "And it's Mark."
*-*-*-*
Alex had taken the Mark Sloan off her hands with unadulterated excitement, even though it worried Clem that Sloan would be a bad influence on her friend. She'd appeared for the tail end of a debate about the plastic surgeon's nickname. She'd pitched McSlimy, but did agree that McSteamy fit the man. Not that she'd ever admit it to him.
Clem caught up with a few patients in the ER before Cristina paged, telling her she was taking Jake up for an MRI. Clementine knew that Jake wasn't her only patient, and most certainly not her only priority, but she couldn't help but hand of her work to an ER intern and run up to the room.
From outside, she could hear Jake complimenting Cristina's eyes. I'm really big on eyes, he had told her, and it warmed Clem's heart, as gross and mushy as that sounded. It was one of the ways they'd first bonded, back before Thanksgiving when he'd first came into the ER. Clem was big on eyes, too; she'd always thought they were a precursor to the soul. She didn't bother with messing around on other telltale factors on the face, or nervous tics in the body-- Clem had been able to read someone's intentions through their eyes since she was little. Whether they were lying, how they were really feeling, it all could be deduced with direct eye contact. And Jake was right. Cristina did have kind, soft eyes.
For an intern interested in plastics, Karev sure wasn't giving up much to the one man who could ensure him a career. Mark hadn't hidden his interest in that Santos, with her burnt-sugar smile and quick wits, but Karev didn't seem to budge when it came to her. He changed the subject almost automatically whenever Mark asked about her, talking about some elective procedure he'd seen, but Mark was a pro; he knew what Karev was doing. He wondered briefly if there was a bit of incestous intern activity, if that was why he couldn't get any information. Mark didn't even know her name-- but that just added to the appeal more.
The third-closest thing to satisfaction that day, behind making amends with Addie and getting a number from the sexiest intern he'd laid eyes on (which was contradictory, but he would blame it on his weakness for a combination of brains and beauty), the case of lionitis that Karev waved in his face would just have to do. For now.
They escorted Jake back to his room, him chatting animatedly to Clem about the latest drama involving his friends at school. Cristina, ever the unattached, had rolled her eyes when Clem gasped about the fact that Emily and Kyle had broken up, but Clem could tell she was secretly invested. It only took Dr. Shepherd a little while to look at the scans before asking the two interns to book an OR. Clem sighed, and followed him down the hall, dreading having to tell Mr and Mrs Burton about the surgery.
When they were a few paces from the door, Clem saw a familiar face chatting animatedly with her patient, and she couldn't help the groan that escaped her. The goddamn man was everywhere today! Shepherd looked bewildered, and then his face morphed into a similar look of disgust and disappointment.
Mrs. Burton was almost in tears, clutching at the chest of Mr. Burton. "How, how is that possible?"
"It's precision work," Dr. Sloan explained. His flirtatious behavior had melted into a charismatic patient voice that was smoothing and convincing all in one go. "It won't be easy, but--"
"Dr. Sloan, can I help you with something?" Shepherd's fury was catching in the air, barely contained with a gloss of professional courtesy.
Clem turned to Jake, who looked more happy than Clementine had remembered seeing him. "He says he can fix my face. Santos, can you believe it? He says he can make me look normal!"
Mr. Burton was shaking his head in shock and excitement. "You really are a Saint-- and our good luck charm, Dr. Santos."
Clem blanched, but pulled together a sweet smile towards her patient and his family just in time. Then she turned slowly, and fixed her scariest glare at Alex Karev, who was to blame for this, she knew it. Clementine was pissed. Did they realize the consequences they could have? Did they know basic patient-doctor confidentiality? HIPPAA? And did they quite understand the effects on Jake's mental health if they couldn't do the procedure?
As Alex's face paled considerably, and Sloan gulped at both Santos and Shepherd's fury, Clem knew that Alex had not considered it. He'd wanted to get into a cool plastic surgery.
They excused themselves, barely maintaining cordiality. Shepherd look speechless with anger briefly, and Sloan had the audacity to turn to Clementine.
"You're one of those, aren't you? When you're happy you're a ray of gold-carat sunshine. But when you're mad, Hell might as well freeze over. I'm surprised Karev didn't piss his pants on the spot," Sloan joked, but Clem's anger hadn't abated quite yet.
Clem couldn't speak her mind to a glorified attending, not in the middle of the surgical corridor, but she could tell Alex what was what. Sloan was right, of course, about her temper, and so she emitted a tight smile and a polite "excuse me" to her superior. And then she grabbed Alex's ear and began pulling him down the hallway as fast as she could, relishing in his "ow, ow, ow, ow" that echoed through the corridor.
*-*-*-*
Alex's apology to Clem came in the form of promising to do her post-op notes for the next week, and offering her a bag of chips as they watched Shepherd and Sloan duel it out. He hadn't realized how much Jake had meant to Clem-- and in fact, neither had Clementine, not until she had reason to worry for him. And, she didn't blame him for wanting a cool surgery. They were interns; they lived off of the scraps leftover from other residents and attendings, constantly hungry and wanting for more, fighting to win their spots in the pack. Part of her anger had probably stemmed from being proven wrong by Sloan once again, having seen him less than an hour after she'd said goodbye to him. For the second time. At this point, she might as well ask him to move into Meredith's.
So Clem settled in to watch the show, Chief Webber struggling as referee, and she poured over the notes about the surgery Sloan planned to do to removed the tumors. She had to admit; Jake had good chances. Sloan had a practically nonexistent mortality rate, though he'd never done a surgery specifically on advanced craniodiaphyseal dysplasia, but the growths would be relatively easy to resect. And she knew how much Jake craved a normal childhood, a chance at being like everyone else. Surely Derek would respect that, put away his own personal problems, and look at the facts.
"Did he call him a crack whore?" Cristina said abruptly, and Clem snorted out a laugh on accident.
"You call him that," Alex countered, dodging Cristina's swat and passing the chips to Clem.
"Oh, shut up. I'm trying to read lips."
Clem squinted at the pair. "Ooh, Shepherd's gesturing! Big gesturing! Wow, they're really getting into it."
"What do you got?" George asked, appearing out of nowhere.
"Battle of the Mc's. Dreamy versus Steamy; who will win the Chief's hand in marriage?" Clem couldn't help the movie presenter voice she donned. The two surgeons were being theatrical enough that it fit.
Alex turned to George. "Why, what do you got?"
He shrugged casually. "Just a woman down in the ER... having spontaneous orgasms."
The trio stiffened, and Alex and Cristina began rushing after George. Damn it. Any other day, it probably would've been Clem's case, as reining Pintern (lovingly abbreviated by the nurses). She swallowed the urge to run after her friends, even when Alex turned and beckoned her along, and stood her ground. For Jake's sake, she had to see this through.
She wasn't sure what exactly had happened, but the two stormed out and Chief Webber was rubbing his bald head stressfully. That didn't look too good. Sloan walked a bit further back from Shepherd, and smiled as she approached them in the hallway.
"What's the verdict, sir?" Clem asked, quickly stuffing the leftover chips into her coat pocket and picking up the stack of papers. She saw Shepherd's face, too sad to just be about not getting his way in the OR, and Sloan's equally ecstatic expression. "Oh. I'm sorry, Dr. Shepherd... but I've been reading up on it and--"
Derek's head snapped up. "Don't tell me you're taking his side, Santos."
Clem paused, shocked at his tone; it was dismissive and bitter. He'd never spoken to her like that before. "I'm not on anyone's side except for Jake's..."
"Unbelievable," he scoffed, throwing his hands up and attempting to walk around Clementine, then stopping. "I can't believe he's ensnared you, too. Trust me, that man is not someone you want to be around."
"To be fair," Sloan began, a slightly devilish look gracing his face. Clem sighed. His input was not going to be helpful. "Santos here is the only one who hasn't fallen for my dashing good looks and-"
Derek's back coiled like a spring, and he whipped around. Clem knew she was involved in something infinitely greater than she'd been prepared to handle. "You stay out of this!"
Sloan's exterior barely rippled, cool and shallow as a puddle, but she saw the inner turmoil in his eyes, saw the hurt and then the retribution brewing. Shit. "Is that what this is? One lusty intern wasn't enough, you needed two?"
One might've thought Shepherd's head was going to explode, the way he advanced towards Sloan. "You damn well better leave Clementine and Meredith alone, you--"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" A shout left Clem's lungs, stunning the both of them into silence. Shepherd knew her relatively well by now, and Sloan had thought of her as meek, so her outburst made them both look like scorned school kids, even though Sloan was mouthing her first name to himself like he'd discovered the eighth wonder of the world. Rage trickled down her spine; there was a life on the line here. A life she intended to ensure made it to high school graduation.
A thought occurred to Derek. "You can't speak to me like that. I'm your attending," he said, though relatively quiet now compared to before.
"And I'm a widely respected surgeon," Mark chimed in.
Clem raised an eyebrow, as if asking them whether or not they'd been acting like it. "Oh, really? And I'm just an intern, right?"
She pointed at Derek, and he blanched. "You. I know all of your dirty secrets because you can't keep your mouth shut after a few glasses of single-malt scotch. I know that you did not change your middle name to Christopher in honor of your father like you told your family, but because you were embarrassed of the name Oswald. And don't even get me started on who your favorite sisters are, because I have the whole damn list!"
Clem whirled onto Sloan, who'd looked amused at the whole scotch thing. "And you! You have unscrupulously flirted with me since before my shift even started. I've got a neat little file organized in my head that could at any moment be titled 'workplace sexual harrassment' and get pinned to your insipid little reputation!"
Clem inhaled deeply and placed her hands on her hips, trying to reign in her temper. "So. You two are going to figure out a way to work together, because Jake Burton is not suffering due to your dramatics, so help me God."
The silence that followed was almost unbearable. As the two men, older and with so many connections to her future, stared at her blankly like chastised children, Clementine wondered once more whether today was her final day in Seattle Grace. Finally, Derek Shepherd raised his hand, ever the good student, and Clem's lips twitched.
"Yes?"
"For the record, it is not dramatics, he screwed--"
Clem snapped once more. "I know damn well who he screwed. Any instance between you and Sloan here that makes you incapable of acting like reasonable surgeons... is dramatic!"
Shepherd withdrew his hand from the air slowly and silently. "Now, we are all going to walk in a reasonable fashion to the Burtons, where Jake's incredibly capable surgeons will make a plan of action towards his treatment. Understood?"
Clem didn't wait for the two doctor's confirmation, but turned around and started back to the skywalk, heart pounding. She could see Bailey's head peaking out from the Chief's office, no doubt wondering about the noise in the hallway. Miranda Bailey was smiling and nodding her head at Clem proudly, and she knew that her Nazi-certified speech had inspired utter terror. What a day for the books.
"You flirted with her?" She could hear Derek whisper.
Sloan sounded the smallest bit nervous. "I think that's beside the point here."
"Hmm." Derek's disappointed scoff was familiar. "Stay away from Clementine. Meredith, too. I mean it."
As they walked down the stairs, Clementine began to feel slightly bad. Sloan wasn't harassing her, although his attempts to get with her were annoying, and Shepherd didn't deserve to be exposed about the whole middle name thing, despite how hilarious she thought it was. So she turned around, and almost cackled as both grown men, half a foot taller and with fifty pounds on her at least, flinched.
"Chips, anyone?" She beamed, pulling out the crumpled bag from her coat pocket.
AN // again, trying to keep this going for as long as possible. we've got about one more chapter of special-guest mark :((((
but please, comment!! tell me your thoughts!! give me feedback!! it's the most motivating thing when it comes to writing this story. ily all and THANK YOU for almost 2k reads!!