TRIAGE | grey's anatomy (ON HOLD INDEFINITELY)

012: "soda"

THE VODKA REDBULL CLEM DOWNED FROM THE AIRPORT BAR DID LITTLE TO ASSUAGE HER FEELINGS OF COWARDESS. Mere moments after Mark Sloan had approached her, all eager and golden-shiny with a Gucci men's suitcase set in hand, she'd blanked. Though their drunken night at Joe's, immortalized by grief on both ends, had been (true to his nickname) teasingly steamy and much-needed, Clem and Sloan's friendship had began and ended there. They didn't exchange numbers or even pretend they wanted to keep in touch. Clementine hadn't thought of him at all in her free time-- mostly because she was a surgical intern at a hospital with more drama than a whole season of MTV's The Hills, so she didn't have any.

And yet there he was, one man out of a city occupied by eight and a half million people, standing with an expectant glint in his eyes at a bone-tired and sadly sober Clem. Simply put, she'd panicked. She had stuttered out a hello and then faked a phone call, her silent cell pressed to her ear as she'd stumbled over her suitcase and practically sprinted away from the surgeon.

Now, waiting to board her 10:55 flight to Seattle, Clem was cringing at her actions and waiting for the alcohol to spin through her veins and delete the past week from her memory file. She couldn't necessarily explain why she'd been that eager to escape from Mark Sloan, who she had gotten along with well enough towards the end of his day at Seattle Grace. It might have (emphasis on the might) had to do with the purpling bags under her eyes, the stress acne on her face, and the horrific grey sweatpants and lavender wifebeater combo she'd tossed on that morning. But if asked by Cristina and Meredith, who Clem was planning on telling the story to in hopes of cheering them up about their dance-duty sentence, she would say that she just wasn't in the mood to be flirted with.

She fiddled with the too-expensive paperback she'd gotten from the gift store next to the bar. It was all the rage with the teenagers, the bored clerk had told her monotonously, his manager watching him from across the room. Forbidden romance, rainy Washington weather, and sparkly vampires. It sounded exactly like the type of deliciously trashy book that could occupy the seven hour flight back home.

Ani had booked Clem the first flight back to Washington she could find, and had apologized profusely that it was "only business and not first class", explaining that she'd argued on the phone with the airline for thirty minutes hoping they would make an exception before having to settle. Clem had laughed at Ani's sincere sorry, insisting that it didn't make any difference to her. Most of her college years had been spent getting the cheapest middle seat she could find. Anita Tahir's love language rotated around money, and it was endearing, really.

Business class was more than acceptable. She had plenty of leg room and a complimentary pillow, and had settled into the first chapter of the book when a flight attendant approached her.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Clem looked up, slightly confused, at the pretty blonde. "We would like to offer you a seat in first class, no additional charge incurred."

Clem raised an eyebrow. Ani must've gotten through to them at the last minute. "Oh! Um, sure. Okay. Is there champagne?"

The last part slipped out before Clem could help herself. A little liquid courage would be nice to wash down a book about teenagers having a more epic romance than Clem ever would. The flight attendant had smiled nicely and nodded her yes.

As she grabbed her messenger bag, and went into the aisle, she saw with some surprise a nicely-dressed businessman moving to occupy her seat, a wad of cash in hand. Had Ani thrown that big of a fit? Clem blinked, sure she was imagining things, and went past the curtain to first class. The seats were massive and plush, two to an aisle, and the row on the right she was beckoned into was empty. Clem smiled and moved to the window seat; she loved watching the clouds.