𝙓𝙑𝙄𝙄.
THIS IS WHAT MAKES US GIRLS
──────
MIAMI
"HOW DO YOU take your coffee?"
It was a weird thing to ask a person after spending the night together, but I couldn't really think of anything else to say.
We were in a hotel. We were in a whole different state. A whole different city— and I couldn't think of anything to stay to Mark Sloan after a one-night-stand. At first, I was completely taken a-back by the fact that I'd woken up to him beside me, looking ever so nonchalant as I sat up in bed, slung on the nearest t-shirt and just blinked at him. He'd made himself comfortable.
"Really?" Mark watched me and I just sighed. He sounded amused. When I looked back at him, his eyebrows were raised and he was grinning. "You're asking me about coffee?"
Yes. Coffee.
I didn't get what was so funny about it. Every morning, I had to have a coffee otherwise I wouldn't feel like myself. Since arriving in Miami, I'd trundled down into the hotel lobby each morning and paid for the largest coffee I could find.
I'd sat outside on the hotel patio and I'd read the news on the newsstand on the opposite side of the road. It was half genuine and half an elaborate trick to make myself feel like a responsible adult.
Responsible adults didn't sleep with Mark Sloan.
I let out a noise.
It lingered halfway between a sigh and a tut, catching at the back of my throat as I got to my feet and dragged my dress off of the floor. My clothing from Derek and Addison's nuptials looked worse for wear. I trailed my hands over a rip in the seam and inhaled sharply. I didn't remember breaking this—
The whole time, Mark just smirked, eyes sparkling.
Oh crap
"Coffee," I said, voice rough. "Coffee."
When I turned around, Mark was in the middle of dressing, bending over to shrug on a pair of slacks. I teetered around the hotel room, throwing my hair into a ponytail. There was a brief pause as he chuckled.
"Coffee," He repeated. "Okay, I can do coffee."
Fuck. He thought that was inviting him for coffee. I hadn't intended on— I didn't want to— I just inhaled a very long and tiresome breath, closing my eyes and trying to ask myself how the hell I'd ended up in this situation.
I chewed on my bottom lip, shoving my legs into a pair of leggings that I was sure was quite possibly the grossest item of clothing I owned.
"Great," I said breezily. Every syllable of the word was stretched and twisted, the tips of my ears going red as I began to play with the idea of remembering what had happened the night before. It was dangerous territory.
Oh dear god, What the fuck had I done? My face burned as I locked myself in the restroom, giving Mark a rather strained smile. I turned to the furniture, running the faucet and slapping a hand against my forehead. You dumb drunk bitch. You got drunk and you did the unthinkable— Oh fuck what the hell is Addie going to think—
I couldn't remember much.
What I could remember was pretty confidential as far as movie ratings went. I felt my chest heave as I retreated to the toilet, head in my hands and fingers rooting at the base of my scalp. I wasn't sure why I felt like I needed to sit down to have this particular crisis. I'd had plenty of them standing up, but this one felt like it needed its own stabiliser.
"You're a bad feminist," I told the despaired face in the mirror. "You're a fucking awful feminist."
In all honesty, I didn't know whether this made me a bad feminist— what did it make me? Other than a notch on Mark Sloan's bedpost? Did it make me a drunk mess?
Holy shit— Addie's going to kill me?
What a scandal this was turning out to be. Addison Montgomery's little sister had gotten blackout drunk at her vow renewals and slept with her designated douchey asshole friend—
Way to fucking go Beth.
I'd singlehandedly pushed feminism back a hundred years. I'd gone back against everything I'd said to that dumbass man (that dumbass handsome man) outside in my hotel room.
I was a hypocrite— a dumb fucking hypocrite who'd— Oh god, I was starting to remember what I'd said to him, how I'd smiled and had literally dragged him up into my hotel room—
There was a gentle knock on the door.
"You good in there, Montgomery?'
I blanched. It was as if he was stood there in the doorway. My body snapped into proper posture, I raised my chin and cleared my throat, putting my mental breakdown on standby— I nodded, even though he couldn't see me through the gilded wood and fancy panelling.
"Uh huh." My voice was a lot more hesitate than I'd intended it to be. I swore under my breath. My shoulders fell.
Wow, that sounded convincing.
"Okay," He said. He paused. "You're not trying to cause a drought in Florida, are you?"
My head swung towards the faucet. I shook my head slowly. Why the hell had I thought that having sex with Mark of all people— Fuck Florida, I was two seconds away from drowning myself in the bathtub.
I was seriously considering it. My eyes drifted in between the window and the door— or maybe I could crawl out of the window. Six floors didn't seem too bad—
I met my own gaze in the mirror.
Listen to yourself, you dumb bitch. You're going crazy. And over who, exactly?
I'd let Mark Sloan get to my head. He was far more effective than the eight (oh fuck, it was nine wasn't it?) glasses of champagne I'd knocked back.
I couldn't even count the wine. I was pretty sure I'd had some of Mark's scotch too-- oh crap. We'd stolen a bottle of Prosecco from the free bar--
Drunk Beth was a whole different sort of person. She did dumber bitch things— I glared at the door— like sleep around.
One day, I vowed to myself, I'm going to make good decisions.
***
SEATTLE
"Izzie's married."
George had been lying on the sofa in the corner of my office, staring at the ceiling as he repeated the phrase over and over to himself. I'd been sat at my desk, filling out paperwork, with his voice like a low hum in the background.
I paused as George paused; he'd been at it for a while now, just lying there like he was stuck on a default setting, repeating it over and over to himself.
His rambling been circulating about like a background song to me, just over the classical music that I always liked to play when I did boring things like forms and signatures, it'd become almost like white noise, something that barely bothered me to the point where I hadn't noticed it—it was when it stopped that I was actually startled.
It had been a few days since Izzie and Alex had walked down the aisle in the place of Derek and Meredith. They were happy. Derek and Meredith were happy. And even Owen and Cristina had made progress.
I'd felt a sense of victory at that, but then Mark had walked by and shot me a look which I couldn't quite decipher—that was enough for my mood to fade away back into a neutral sigh that rattled when it fell through my mouth.
"So, do you want to talk about it?" I asked George softly. "I've been told I'm a great listener."
He'd originally just come inside, asked to eat lunch in here and I'd agreed, on the basis that he bring me a coffee and a ham and cheese Panini from the canteen. So here we were, with my eyebrows drawing together and George letting out a long, tired breath
George didn't reply straight away and I took that as a sign that he just needed a moment of silence. I returned to scrawling notes on a piece of paper until George piped up.
"It's just crazy you know...." It was a step up from the two words he'd been repeating with a stupefied expression. "Izzie and Alex- one minute they're fighting—the next they're-"
"Married." I finished for him.
The younger doctor sat up quickly and turned to look over at me as I swapped my pen for the coffee George had been gracious enough to grab for me. His doe-eyes met mine and his lip quivered for a moment before he took in a long, deep breath.
"Yeah," George said after a while, making me wonder whether he'd had a psychotic break in the past few hours.
He blinked slowly, almost innocently before inhaling so intensely that I could see his nostrils waver and his chest dent with the breath.
"Izzie's married."
I stared over at him, smiling sadly, wondering whether George and Izzie had ever had a thing and whether their friendship was as innocent as it appeared. Alex and Izzie were, as far as I'd gathered, perfect together. I knew that Izzie had been engaged before and that Alex had slept about—but I didn't know anything about George.
"Do you want an appointment?" I asked softly, my fingers reaching out for my draw where my diary and appointment list was waiting for me.
It was relatively empty—my days had just been mostly outpatients and taking on patients from the psychiatrist who had left. I doubted that I'd have much trouble pencilling him in. George, whose gaze had wandered elsewhere, snapped back to me quickly.
"Oh no, I just..."
He paused, causing confusion to roll through me. He was being rather weird today; he seemed distracted and conflicted, although I supposed that I didn't really know George O'Malley that well enough to tell whether or not this was normal.
"I'm worried about Izzie."
George's voice was soft, causing me to sigh under my breath, finally understanding why he appeared so on-the-edge. Despite his reluctance to make an appointment, I slowly pushed away my documents and leant forwards on my desk, watching him with a professional criticism.
"Mhmm," I hummed as George seemed to stumble over his words, trying to find the right phrase to continue with. He'd laid back down onto the sofa, his hands expressively appearing above the crown of his head."Why do you feel worried? Is it because of the cancer? Because of Alex?"
"I was married," George suddenly said out of the blue, somewhat answering my question. My eyebrows rose, now that was something I didn't know. "I got hitched to Callie in Vegas—but then I slept with Izzie and the marriage fell apart and now I'm a divorced guy living with a bunch of people in a big house."
"Wait, Callie?" My eyebrows dropped down my face so abruptly that I was scared they'd just completely fall off my face. "As in, Callie Callie?"
"As in 'now-dating-a-girl' Callie." George seemed to pause after speaking. He slowly mulled over his words as I blinked nodding slowly as I recounted what Callie had told me in the bar. "Oh, gee—do you think that being married to me was so bad that she lost interest in guys completely?"
I thought back to what Callie had said. "Uh, I don't think so, if it's any consolidation, I heard a rumour she was having sex with my ex a few weeks ago."
That piqued George's interest. "Mark is your ex?"
I scowled at his crumpled form and mocked his tone.
"Callie is your ex?"
He let out a loud and audible scoff as I rolled my eyes. I could hear him grumble something along the lines of "okay, I deserved that" before he fell silent again, seemingly lost in the wilderness of his thoughts. I smiled softly to myself, before speaking.
"So, that's why you're so on the fence about marriage, huh?" He just sighed, "Callie's sexuality is probably just a newfound discovery, a part of her she's just uncovered-- She's exploring who she is—it's got nothing to do with you. You shouldn't let it cloud your judgement of marriage or intimacy."
"Did anyone ever tell you that you'd be a good couples counsellor?" George asked randomly. It was my turn to scoff.
"Well, seeing as romance makes me physically sick, I doubt it."
George hummed lightly in response as if he sounded as though he had half a mind to agree. I picked at my cuticles wryly, my lips in a thin line as the surgical resident seemed to dance on the edge of hesitation.
"What about Charlie? The doctor guy in Indonesia?" George enquired, threading his fingers through the curly mass attached to his scalp, while I paused briefly. He seemed to hitch up in the seat, his baby blue and wide, round, innocent eyes catching on mine as I bit down on my bottom lip. "Wait, we're friends, right? Because if we're not friends then this is a totally inappropriate question---"
"Uh," For dramatic necessity, I stared at George long and hard, my eyes narrowing as I fought a chuckle. "Huh, well, seeing as you're one of the only people in Seattle that seems to like me, other than my brother-in-law, a nurse in the ICU and my brother-in-law's girlfriend... I'd say we are." George's face broke into a slow but definite grin. "But for your second question... I don't know whether that it is the sort of question that I could answer. I think the only one who deserves the answer is Charlie, himself."
George slowly manoeuvred around on the sofa. I raised an eyebrow as he settled on his stomach, his arms folded under his chin and his luminous eyes fixed on me. "Tell me about Charlie, then?"
"Hmm?"
"Isn't that what gal pals do? Don't they gossip about boys, go get manicures and get their hair done?"
George seemed completely nonchalant and I laughed loudly, my eyes widening. Out of all of the people in Seattle- besides Derek- George was the only person who knew about Charlie. After all, he'd been the only one who'd asked.
"Maybe you're right?"
I struggled to answer because I realised that it had been a long time since I'd had a proper amount of girl time.
He was watching me with a hyped amount of intense interest on his face, causing my lips to twitch and my head to slowly teeter from side to side. George scowled at me, making a brash, "C'mon" noise.
"Charlie's great." I managed, finally giving into him. I awkwardly scratched the side of my nose, a slight blush burning cheeks. "He's amazing, actually. Y'know, the first time we met, he was all suave and charming and I just told him I wasn't interested. But, fast forwards a few months and we're making out in the back of his jeep. One thing leads to another and..." I waved a dismissive hand in the air in front of me. "I happen to do that a lot."
"Do what?" George frowned. I simply shrugged.
"I don't know... just be stupid in relationships, I guess. I say I need something and set my mind on it and don't achieve it and when I say I don't need something it always ends up happening..." I scoffed at my own words, shaking my head as the words registered in my brain. "Maybe I do need a therapist. I can just tell you that couples counselling is not something I'm interested in. Not until one, I get enough credit to know anything about a healthy relationship. And two, don't barf every time someone brings up the prospect of me actually committing to something."
"You're committing to this job." The small voice of George O'Malley mused in the background as I examined my nails, wondering whether I should really get a manicure at some point. "You're taking baby steps."
Despite everything, I chuckled. I turned my head to face him and mocked the words he'd said to me earlier. "Did anyone ever tell you that you'd be a good shrink?"
"No." George deadpanned rather quickly and I was half tempted to chuck the stapler beside me in his direction. "I've literally just spent the last half an hour lying on your couch mumbling like a mad man. I know nothing about anything to do with functioning properly."
"Abnormalities," I shook my head sadly, tossing a pen into the air and catching it with an expression of boredom clear on my face. "Inability to function normally, statistical infrequencies, deviation from social norms, violation of ideal mental health—gee O'Malley, you're making it too easy for me here. You've got textbook issues, my friend."
"And you've got commitment issues." George quipped back, smirking at me. I leant back, grinning at him. I was satisfied with his comeback.
"Touché."
But my reply didn't seem to get the desired response; the smile on George's face seemed to wither at the edges, fading until he was left with the same default, auto-pilot distance in his eye.
My expression trickled away too, a dent appearing between my eyebrows as I watched the go-lucky boy who I'd learnt would probably be the friendliest face in Seattle, grow tired and sad. Subconsciously, I reached for a pad and grabbed the pen I'd been fiddling with.
"I think I need some advice," George said softly.
His voice was inaudible, almost impossible to catch. The air in my office grew stiff and I scribbled his name in all capital letters across the top of my A4 lined paper. I let out a soft murmur- "of course"- and held my breath as George exhaled in exhaustion.
"Do you want this advice from a mental health expert or a friend?"
I wasn't exactly quite sure what to expect from George O'Malley. He'd appeared in my office and I'd listened to him mull over his close friends impromptu marriage over and over. I'd listened to him chuckle and smile and then become void. Something was troubling him, even behind his freckles and happy persona; I just didn't know what.
"A friend." George said, with a sense of surety in his voice. My lips twitched at that, a warm feeling filling my chest. It was a nice word to hear. "I think you're the right person to ask—I mean, you've seen things and you know the logistics and.... if I talked to Mer or Izzie about it that'd blow it all out of proportion and they wouldn't understand... I kind of trust you."
I smiled. "You do?"
"Yeah... I don't know, you're just reliable I think—it partially has something to do with the fact that I know you won't tell anyone, patient-doctor confidentiality and all..."
"Okay." I replied, "What is it?"
George took a sharp inhale before relaxing back into the couch. The way he did so reminded me eerily of the death reflex that I'd seen when the heart monitor would flat line and the light would fade from their eyes. His chest deflated and for a second, he was silent, hanging onto a deathly silent note that was forcing its way through his lips.
"I want to join the army."
I almost froze in surprise, but a few years of heavy training allowed me to keep completely impassive and nonchalant. George didn't meet my gaze, but had instead reverted to staring up at the ceiling, his hands clasped on his chest and his chin titled upwards. I slowly wrote down his every word, before registering each syllable and his tone of voice.
He sounded definite as if this was definitely something that he wanted. He didn't waver at all, just seemed hesitant to confess his desires. He sounded determined.
"I want to do trauma work, I want to save lives, save heroes." In that moment, George seemed to wander off into his own little dreamscape, his head rushing over the possibilities that laid out before him. "I want to do work that really counts towards something, I want to be stressed and out of my depth and push myself over the edge- I want to do work that will leave me out of breath and wanting for more."
He sounded alive, electric, excited. He sounded as if he'd found exactly what he'd been waiting for his whole life.
"You want to be a hero." I mused softly, mostly to myself.
George was sweet, he was the sort of guy that was understated and overlooked. With his curly mop of hair, friendly nature and tendency to lean on the lower end of people's expectations, he was my first solid unassociated-with-Derek-Shepherd friend in Seattle.
And he'd make a good damn hero, I was sure of it.
***
MIAMI
When I resurfaced from the bathroom, Mark was sat on the bed, fully dressed.
He didn't look up as I very quietly made my way across the room. I didn't particularly feel like saying anything, just shrugged on a pair of shoes and wondered whether karma would come to strike me today.
I could see how this was going to go— we'd go down into the lobby, together, and see Addison and Derek, together, or Sam or Naomi, together, or my Mom or My Dad, together— and then there was going to be a brief idea in their minds.
The thought of someone just thinking it made me want to squirm.
"You look as though you've seen a ghost," His comment made me want to squirm too. It was said nonchalantly. He didn't even look up from the pamphlet he was reading. It was the room service menu.
Apparently, it was more interesting than watching me flinch.
"Really?"
"Mhmm," Mark mused. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head nod up and down. "I thought you'd flushed yourself down the toilet. You were in there for a while."
Well, I thought to myself, that was one way out I hadn't considered.
"I have to say, I didn't expect to be the high-maintenance one," I met his eyes in the dresser mirror, in mid hair tie gymnastics. A eyebrow bobbed on his brow, causing me to shake my head. "Is personal hygiene really that dramatic?"
He raised his chin, tilting his head to the side. "Ah, okay."
I didn't like his tone. Mark had this expression on his face. He was frowning very lightly in a very disingenuous way. His eyes scanned me head to toe.
I turned, placing my hands on my waist and feeling, suddenly, extremely transparent. I didn't like the way he was looking at me— it was as if he was able to looking straight through me.
"What?"
"That's not a very feminist thing to say."
Oh fuck.
He'd heard me. I hadn't taken Mark as the eaves-dropping type but apparently we were both having revelations today. He seemed to enjoy the look of very brief mortification that flashed over my face.
I'd thought that it'd had at least a tiny bit of privacy as I'd teetered on the edge of an identity crisis, but no. Apparently not.
"Fuck you," I muttered, looking away.
"You already did," Mark shrugged, looking back down at the pamphlet and tossing it aside. "I had a great time by the way—"
I groaned.
"Oh god no, don't even mention it—"
"Ah, I get it," He said, chuckling. "So that's the plan? Avoidance?"
"Absolutely," I nodded, exhaling sharply through my nose. "It didn't happen—"
It didn't happen, even though I was beginning to remember it. I remembered it a little bit more, maybe, that I would've liked to. I remembered enough to be suddenly unable to meet his gaze. It did happen. A lot happened. A lot involved his hands and my hand and— I choked on a breath that I didn't even know I was holding. It definitely happened.
I would rather die than admit that I'd actually enjoyed it.
There Mark was, just sat in the middle of the hotel room that Addie was paying for, on the sheets that Addie was paying for, breathing in the air conditioning that Addie was paying for too. He was wearing his dress shirt from the night before, those smart slacks and shiny shoes— my breathing caught slightly in my throat as I vividly remembered popping one of the buttons that shirt and unbuckling that belt— Fucking hell, I shouldn't be allowed to drink.
"I won't tell Addison," Mark said simply. His suit jacket was on his lap and his face was fixed into this little smile that made me want to burn my skin off. If I stayed idle for long enough, I could still feel his lips on my jaw. I just decided that maybe the rest of my body needed to go as well. "Don't worry your little head about it—"
"Great," I grilled out, "Sounds perfect— Okay— Great—"
"I have to say... I was pleasantly surprised—"
"Great," I repeated. "Thanks— that's amazing—"
I wanted him out of my room. His energy was far too chaotic for such a pristine space. Plus, I couldn't fucking think with him sat in front of me. My mind was scrambled. Every time I blinked I was recovering some sort of suppressed detail of what had happened in my drunken stupor.
My palms were clammy. I felt vaguely dizzy and my hangover was starting to swing into play— I watched as Mark chuckled, bemused by the way that I bounced on the balls of my feet, visibly eager to get this whole thing over with.
"What have you got them stacked like airport flights or something?" He asked, eyebrows raised. I halted completely, taken aback by his words. I opened my mouth, made the executive decision not to answer and just shot him a dirty look. Mark seemed to hear what he'd just said and raised his hands, hanging his head. "Yeah, okay— that wasn't very feminist of me at all—"
"Nobody can know," I said sharply, still hung up on the elephant in the room. He seemed to let out a breath. It was disbelieved and slightly annoyed. "Nobody— nobody at all. I swear if I end some locker room talk— I'm going to go mental on your ass—"
"Oh, at least give me some credit, Elizabeth," Mark rolled his eyes, getting to his feet. He slung his jacket over his shoulder and shook his head at me. "Am I really that bad to be associated with?"
Without hesitation, I answered.
"Yep," There was no doubt in my mind. "And it's Beth— you're not my parent—"
"I would hope not after—"
"Stop," It was a tired exhale, a gentle plea. I stood in front of him, holding out my hand as if to stop him from moving any closer to me. Mark raised another eyebrow at that. He hadn't been moving. I was acting as if I was scared of what would happen if he stepped towards me. Maybe I was. Maybe I wasn't scared of him, but rather of myself. "Look, Mark, you seem like a great guy—"
"Oh god," Mark groaned. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You don't have to break up with me."
"What the fuck else am I supposed to do?" I asked, my voice escalating a few pitches as I waved my arms frantically. "I haven't had a one night stand since... since like high school or—"
"Okay," Mark said evenly, sensing that maybe I wasn't having the best day so far. "What usually happens is... we just say 'thanks', I leave, you shower or whatever and I call you in a week to see if you're down for a Round Two—"
He sounded serious.
"Seriously?" I asked, eyes wide and muscles trembling as I reeled from his audacity. A loud scoff fell through my lips as he very nonchalantly nodded. I shook my head. I felt a desperation to make this very clear: "There's not going to be a Round Two— don't bother."
Mark just shrugged. He looked at me and he shrugged. I watched him do it. I watched him with a pair of very hungover and tired eyes. Neither of us had gotten much sleep at all and yet, he had the audacity to still look put together. I watched as he turned on his heel, aiming for the door.
Was he really about to just leave? Oh, the audacity was truly just building and building today— I actually felt quite offended as he went to leave without another word. So much for a thanks. So much for being pleasantly surprised—
He went to open the door but was cut short as someone knocked.
✧*:･ﾟ✧
SEATTLE
The ER was emptier than I'd anticipated today.
As I swung around to the front desk, I noticed Derek keeping a low profile, seemingly going through a chart. His head was bowed, attention rigid and I knew instantly that he was eavesdropping—on what, I was eager to find out. After asking for the file quietly from the nurse, I gave him an idle side-glance. Derek, who had probably been keeping tabs on me since I'd walked into the ER, discreetly jerked his head behind him.
I followed the movement and instantly grimaced.
Lexie and Mark were having a loud and indiscreet conversation. As soon as I'd noticed Mark was there, I turned my back to him instantly, following Derek's example and concealing myself with my hair. A slight chuckle escaped Derek's lips, but he seemed to be fully enveloped by the topic the two romantics were discussing.
From what I could tell, Mark was drowning and Derek was far from throwing him a life raft.
"Hey, I was thinking, you know," Mark sounded strained, awkward, something that I hadn't ever heard from him before. Derek's faced twitched with a smile and I could tell why Derek was hanging around. "With, uh, Derek and Meredith getting married, they, uh, probably don't want us hanging out in the attic much longer."
There was something about the way Derek bit down on his lip and sniggered slightly that told me we were about to listen to a train wreck.
"...So I was thinking that I'd start looking for a condo."
My eyebrows raised as Derek sighed under his breath. I'd been under the impression that Mark had had Seattle figured out, that he'd been a little bit better of than I had been, but no, apparently he was living out of the attic of the Grey household, just like I was (kind of). I'd been thinking about finding some sort of apartment for a while—I just needed to get around to grovelling to Addie to get the restrictions lifted from my trust fund, so I could get out enough money to put down a solid payment. Surprisingly enough, I wasn't too thrilled about the thought of doing something so small of me.
Meanwhile, here Mark was, blatantly creating a segway for him and Lexie to move in together.
"Perfect, then you'll finally have a place of your own."
I almost sniggered at her reply, and Derek, I could tell, was seriously holding himself back from facepalming. Lexie's voice came along daintily, full of innocence and small little fluffiness and sunshine. I could practically hear Mark's balls of steel crack and crumble.
"Actually..."
Maybe Mark was rethinking this. Maybe his pause was him giving up. Maybe he was thinking that Lexie was a little too young for him, a little too naive, a little too small. After all, I'd been young for him, god knows about Lexie Grey.
"I was, you know- thinking maybe you'd, uh... You'd come with me."
I could picture him, awkwardly teetering on one foot, his arm raised as he went to scratch the back of his neck with a breathless smile plastered across his face. Beside me, Derek sighed: this was not going well at all.
"Ab-Absolutely." Lexie almost tripped over herself to reply, the surprise and sudden heat in her voice causing me to roll my eyes. "No- I would love to see it... I'm happy for you."
It was this exact moment in the conversation, that Derek put down his pen and pinched the bridge of his nose. My cheeks puffed as I fought the urge to burst out into laughter, despite the knots and weights that were wrangled all together in my chest. The sound of footsteps surrounded us and I looked to my left, watching as the youngest Grey trotted off, completely oblivious to the fact that she'd just left Mark hanging.
Derek cleared his throat, turning around to look at Mark with a secret smile. I leant over the desk, smiling at the nurse and trading my thanks for the patient file, just as Mark came sheepishly walking over to Derek, a stormy look in his eye.
"How much of that did you hear?" Mark asked quickly, his speed clearly showing how frustrated he appeared. I could have been mistaken, but I swore that he sounded a tiny bit embarrassed.
As Derek mustered up a witty response, I realised that I was wrong—he was one hundred per cent mortified.
"You mean the part where you asked her to move in with you?" Derek inquired, cocking an eyebrow innocently as I turned around, folding my arms over my chest. My eyes fell on Mark, who grimaced as he recognised me, clearly despaired that I, of all people, had been around to watch his untimely failure.
"Or, the part where she shot you down?" I smiled innocently, but there was a bit of bite behind it. I was bitter, I always would be.
I looked between the two man-children, before rolling my eyes and walking between them, my shoulder missing Mark's chest by a few inches and my ponytail almost slapping him across the face. I left with my head held high and confidence in my strut, knowing that Mark's eyes would follow me until I left.
It was before that I reached the same corridor where Owen had stormed away, that I heard Derek and Mark's final exchange.
"By the way, it's too early for you to be moving in with Lexie."
"Why?" Mark sounded affronted, a slightly incredulous chuckle bubbling up through his chest.
"You're not ready."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"I need to keep you on a leash, away from my sisters-in-law," Derek replied in a water-tight manner. I almost lost his voice in the murmur of the ER, and I could have been mistaken by his last words, but his next words caused my heart to jump into my mouth. "When you look at Beth, like that, you're not ready Mark. And I'm not going to let you destroy another member of my family.
"Derek, c'mon-"
"You're not ready."
✧*:･ﾟ✧
MIAMI
"Beth?"
Mark looked back at me, eyebrows raised in vague alarm. I barely had time to register the surprise in his face as we both recognised the voice that was creeping underneath the threshold. It was a voice that I hadn't expected to hear before at least lunchtime— didn't she have better things to do? Apparently not, she was knocking on my hotel room door and calling out my name.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
"It's Addie," Like I don't realise that. Mark's low whisper made me let out a long breath that was halfway bound for a scream. I massaged my forehead. I glowered at him. Damn dumb Mark, dumb handsome Mark, dumb handsome stupid Mark, and damn drunk horny Beth for good measure too—
My sister was stood on the other side of that door. Why? I had no idea. She was quite literally millimetres away from Mark as he froze to the spot. I'd never been in a situation to truly appreciate the fact that my sister didn't have X-Ray vision, but I seemed to miraculously find it.
"I tried calling up from the front desk but they said that your phone is engaged—"
Simultaneously, both of our heads turned towards the empty cradle on the nightstand. The brick of a landline was on the floor, it's curly cord disappearing underneath the bed. I stared at it, my heartbeat hammering away at the inside of my chest. Mark glanced at me— we'd knocked it off. We'd fucking knocked the phone out of it's holder while making out against the wall— Oh for fu-
"Beth?"
Say something, Mark was mouthing at me, his head jerking towards the door. I opened my mouth and then closed it— I was completely lost for words. I shook my head, floundering like a fish. He was still there, glued to the spot as if he was worried that any movement would clue Addison into what was happening.
Say what? I mouthed back.
"Anything," He whispered hoarsely.
That really wasn't helping. It was as if he'd just thrown a hot potato at me and yelled 'IMPROVISE!'. But Addie wasn't a kid's game.
She was less vegetable and more ticking time bomb. She was persistent too. I'd been under the impression that she was going to spend her time having some nice post-nuptial time with her husband but no— she was making my day extremely difficult.
I was sure that this was one of those freak moments that you could never prepare for. I must've missed this class in college: How to Get Away With Sleeping With That Weird But Handsome Player Friend Your Sister Introduced You To 101. Mark was looking at me, expecting me to do something, to say something.
I didn't get why he was so panicked by the idea of Addison finding him in my hotel room, this was supposed to be breakdown, not his. I couldn't imagine him getting anything other than a berating from Derek— I was going to get DEFCON 1.
My eventual response was pathetic and poorly chosen: "I'm just coming!"
I could tell from the groan that Mark let out that I'd made the wrong call. He averted his eyes to the ceiling, seemed to yell internally and took a few measured paces away from the door. He shot me a long, incredulous look and gestured towards the bathroom. I just blinked at him, my mind a few seconds behind. Addison called out to me, a very tentative 'Okay!' as she waited in the hallway. Mark hesitated, checking to see whether the door to the second room made any noise, it didn't.
Oh shit, I thought to myself as I realised what I'd done, I have to open the door.
I glanced at the back of Mark's head as he hid behind the door, then surveyed the room. Jesus— we'd really taken our time to screw this hotel over. Pillows were on the floor, sheets were half abandoned, there was paper under the table, clothing in the corner— I didn't have time to clear anything up.
I kicked aside what I was sure was one of Mark's socks, on my way to the door. I took a deep breath and then I opened it.
I'd almost forgotten how intense my sister was.
"Are you okay?" She asked, looking me up and down as I swung on the door-handle, trying my best to act casual. I nodded, rolling out my shoulder blades and smiling. My sister squinted at me for a few seconds. "I couldn't get a hold of you—"
"Oh," I shook my head dismissively, "The phone fell out of it's holder, um, I didn't realise— sorry about that."
Despite the tension, Addison was looking well. I had absolutely no idea what the time was but I knew that it wasn't too early to stop her from getting on a full outfit and full face of makeup.
She was dressed as if she'd expected me to go with her somewhere. I, on the other hand, looked as if I'd gotten confused on my way to a gym for the unfashionable.
"I wanted to know if you wanted to come to brunch..."
Brunch. Brunch. Oh how I hated brunch. But this was Addie, this was her trip, this was her weekend in Miami. I had no idea what the hell she was thinking trying to go out for brunch this far south, but knowing her we'd end up having lunch with Gianni Versace or something. "I was thinking we could go and maybe look over the photos from yesterday while Derek and Mark go out to the fishing—"
"Sounds good," I nodded. I was nodding because if I nodded, if I agreed, then Addison would leave quicker.
If I'd said anything than a vague agreement there would've been a much longer series of begging. I didn't want Addison here longer than necessary.
I knew that if Addison stood there for long enough, she'd play detective. She'd catch wind of something not quite right and then she'd hound after it until she was satisfied with an answer.
I knew my sister. Suspicions were probably already rising in her head, alarm bells were so much more familiar to her than those wedding bells— I cleared my throat.
"I'll uh— I'll meet you down in the lobby in twenty minutes," I caught Addison's eyes flickering over my shoulder, into the room. I was doing my best to very inconspicuously block out as much of the view as possible. I wasn't doing a great job. "I just need time to— to do myself up. You look amazing, by the way— I feel like absolute shit from last night and I'm sure I look it—"
"What's that?"
Addison was staring over my shoulder.
Inwardly I swore.
Outwardly I said: "What's what?"
I spoke through a veil of innocence, not able to bring myself to turn my head around to follow what she was staring at. A muscle jumped in my jaw as I watched her squint, leaning forwards as if she was fighting to make out a small detail— I tried to play everything off so casually but I'd never been a particularly good actress.
As my sister mentally began making her detective board and I started genuinely wishing that I'd just thrown myself out of the window like I'd briefly considered five minutes ago, I glanced back at whatever she was looking at.
"Is that a tie?"
Mark's tie. The asshole had left it hanging on one of the chairs right smack-bang in front of the door. I stared at it, feeling my skin chill and my bones turn to jelly. The chill worked its way down my spine, causing a sour taste to stir on my tongue.
"I must've stolen it from someone," The lie was breathy but it was plausible. Somehow, I was doing some of the best acting of my whole life while feeling like I was about to vomit. "I-I drank a shit tonne. I can't remember who— but it must've come from someone—"
"It looks like one of Derek's groomsmen." Addison was still studying it from afar. Luckily, she couldn't see my facial expression. I was two seconds away from trembling. It was as if she was holding a gun up against the side of my head, watching my sweat. Eventually, my sister let out a breath. "I'll ask him to ask around— I swear, you always get into the most trouble when you're drunk."
"Sounds about right," I said tightly. In my head I continued the sentence: You have no idea.
Drunk Beth was truly the bane of my existence. She did all of the stupid things that sober me knew was stupid. She had no self-regard, very little self-awareness and liked to flirt with anything that had a pulse— Oh god, I gripped the door a little tighter. Drunk Beth's just a female Mark.
That's it, I thought to myself, I'm never drinking again.
"Okay," Addison said.
I could tell that she was still wary. While I was having my little revelation, she took a final watchful glance around my hotel room. She mentally cased the chaotic mess that was inside. Her brow furrowed slightly at the objects that I could clearly remember shoving out of the way while Mark's tongue was down my throat—
Oh boy. I watched as she frowned to herself.
"I'm like a hurricane," I said meekly, trying my best to pull of the best goddamn show of my whole non-existent theatre career. Surprisingly, the only one out of the three Montgomery siblings that had ever shown any great showmanship in theatre had been Archer. He'd been a great Peter Pan in his Middle School production. "I leave a mess everywhere I go."
I couldn't tell whether Addison bought it.
She just nodded slowly.
"Twenty minutes."
Never had a time frame ever been so beautiful.
I inclined my head. "Twenty minutes. Not a second later."
I genuinely think Addison would have parted with just vague suspicions. I genuinely think that if everything had stopped there and she'd just walked away, interrupted, I would have gotten away with this.
The nonexistent college grade would've been secured. But it didn't stop there. No, we were very much interrupted. By who?
By room service.
Oh no.
I closed my eyes as I watched a gilded tray with two coffees on it trundle closer and closer to us.
Mark, you fucking jackass.
When I opened them I had two people staring at me expectantly. The poor room service attendant looked between us, smiling brightly and widely as if they didn't have a care in the world. Addison, on the other hand, tilted her head to the side, eyebrows raising and her detective hat shining very brightly on top of her head. I stared at the coffees on the cart.
Two empty cups. A very fancy display for just a morning coffee.
I almost laughed when Addison nonchalantly dug out her wallet, handing the attendant a twenty-dollar tip.
He left us very quickly, delighted by money. She'd done it out of second nature, probably knowing that I wouldn't have anything to hand. I wasn't resourceful like that. Addison was.
Whatever laugh that did rise, died at the back of my throat.
Now, I was left alone, under her knowing and watchful gaze.
She'd always been really, really good at join the dots. I'd always been more of a word search person.
"You know me, Addie," I gave her a wide smile, trying to cover up the fact that I felt like screaming. "Always gotta have my morning coffee."
There was a very long moment.
Within this moment, I was completely convinced that Addison was going to charge past me and storm the bathroom like the French had stormed the Bastille. In fact, her foot twitched. She seemed to actually consider it— and then suddenly, it was out of the question. She'd probably weighed the pros and cons of it in her head. While I was very prone to bad decisions, Addison was an expert in good ones.
"Twenty minutes," She repeated it slowly and carefully. Her gaze was heavy. I nodded with equal speed.
"Twenty minutes," I felt mortified. I couldn't meet her eye. I stared down at the two coffee cups and just itched at my jaw.
I really should have just flushed myself down the toilet when I had the chance.
I didn't relax until I was sure that Addison was off the floor, it ate into three minutes of my time but it was worth it. I let out the longest breath known to man and flopped back on the bed. I'd dragged the cart into the room and put it in the furthest corner away from me.
Not only was I going to suffer through this brunch, but I was also going to waste some perfectly good coffee too.
I didn't even bother to tell Mark that he could come out.
Gingerly, his face appeared from behind the door. His eyes jumped from the doorway, to me, to the cart and then back in a tiring circuit of dizzying repetition. He seemed to want me to say something. It was weird, Mark had always struck me as the talkative type. He'd been really into pillow talk. Now, he was just a very cautious man scared of taking his walk of shame.
"She knows," I said those words so quietly that I wasn't sure he'd heard them. But he did.
"She can't know." He sounded so sure.
I raised my head, eyes wide and chest still pounding.
"Believe me, it's Addison," For a split second, I could tell that he did. "She knows."
Mark seemed to ponder over it for a second. He swallowed and he clutched his suit jacket in between his fingers and he considered whether I was right. I watched his expression, watched the brief flash of fear in his eyes.
Something told me that I wasn't the only person who was going to have hell to pay if he was found in my hotel room.
For the first time since I'd met him, Mark was speechless.
So I decided to fill the silence.
I tilted my head in the direction of the room service he'd ordered while I'd contemplated ending it all via faucet.
"Coffee?"