TRIAGE | grey's anatomy (ON HOLD INDEFINITELY)

013: "from eden"

IT TOOK MARK AND CLEMENTINE A SOLID FORTY-FIVE MINUTES TO ACTUALLY GET TO HER CAR. A drunken Clem and a vaguely suburban-sounding Mark meant a few pitstops on their way out of the terminal. Clem had been stumbling and refusing to do anything but sing in a hiccupy, off-kilter voice when she had something to say. Mark, on the other hand, had spent at least twenty minutes describing to a confused (and slightly scared) concierge the exact process of how his designer suitcases were made and why a scratch was detrimental to the quality of it. By the time Mark had gotten his refund and Clem a bottle of water, the sun was setting and a sense of urgency was kicking in.

Clem gripped the sticky note with the level her car was on in a death grip as Mark peppered her with questions. The parking garage's cooling concrete was still slightly spinning, and every once in a while she would trip over her sneakers and Mark would have to grip her elbow to hold her steady. She tried to tell herself that the blush on her face was a result of the liquor swarming in her veins and chewing off chunks of her previously perfectly healthy liver, but it wasn't convincing-- not even to her inner monologue.

"A prom?" he asked skeptically, for the umpteenth time. "In a hospital. And the doctors are required to attend?"

Clem sighed and scratched her nose a bit sloppily. "Mark, how many times do I need to say yes? It's for the Chief's niece, and it's also sort of punishment for the whole LVAD wire thing."

"Right," Mark smiled sarcastically, adjusting the collar of his jacket. "Are you proud to be associated with criminals, Clementine?"

"I didn't tell you that as a doctor, and it's a secret. I'm hoping that you're good at keeping them." She smacked him across the chest and sent him a warning look.

Clem sighed in relief as her car chirped in the distance, fumbling to unlock the hatchback and toss her suitcase in. She turned towards Mark, ready to get going so they wouldn't be late, but the surgeon was looking at her with blatant distaste. "What is it now?"

"That is your car?" Mark clutched his stupid Gucci duffel bag to his chest like a scorned mother. "That's a death trap."

Clem frowned, turning to look at her VW Rabbit from the 80's. "It's vintage."

"It's a clunker. Does it even run?"

"Yeah, on the blood of the people who insult my belongings," Clem deadpanned, her feelings a bit hurt. Sure, it needed a bit work, but it was older than she was and should be respected as an elder. Plus, she found the chipped red paint endearing. "Get in the damn car and drive."

Clem tossed Mark the keys, wincing a bit as he had to dive to catch them, and climbed into the passenger's seat woozily. She had to kick a few empty coffee cups out of the way, and when she peeked in her backseat, found a blanket, a stack of CD's, and half of her wardrobe on the floorboards. She hadn't really been anticipating company in her clutter.

Mark lowered himself into the car, muttering about his collection of Aston Martin's and Ferrari's from the sixties and how those were vintage, and Clementine had a brief moment of clarity.

She was beginning to regret inviting Mark to the prom. It had been the tequila and the past week's residual bitterness talking, the last effects of a cataclysmic event settling down with the rubble. Wreckage revealed and all that. Realistically, she could've just gotten a taxi to the hospital and gone back to pick up her car the next morning. Realistically, she could've said goodbye to Mark as they walked off the plane, effectively ending their semi-friendship even as it slowly rose from the ground like steam after a rainstorm. And instead, Clem had committed herself to an evening filled to the brim with him, of seeing Derek and Addison's faces as she walked in on the arm of the man who had a key part in ruining their relationship from the get-go. Of having to deal with her roommates incessant teasing about McSteamy. She liked Mark, as self-important and sleazy plastic surgeons went. His charm was more of a default setting than a front, and he wasn't just a pretty face-- he was smart, and interesting, and witty. And Clem couldn't possibly be the hypocrite who would judge someone for any bad decisions they'd made. But all of a sudden (and maybe it was because she was toeing the line between fun drunk and regretful drunk) it felt like she had agreed to becoming a team with someone who she wasn't sure she would be able to stand sober, and on coffee alone. She also really couldn't fathom why Mark Sloan had agreed; he was notoriously awful about commitment as well.