TRIAGE | grey's anatomy (ON HOLD INDEFINITELY)

022: "marigold"

ALL CLEMENTINE COULD THINK OF WHILE SITTING ACROSS FROM JOHN MARIGOLD AT A SEMI-FORCED DINNER WAS MARK SLOAN. More specifically, Mark Sloan's face as he had walked hurriedly away from the pair thirty minutes prior, with the obligatory polite handshake already over with, his features composed and his azure eyes revealing utter betrayal. Clem knew implicitly that she didn't owe Mark anything. She sure as hell didn't owe him an explanation on her life before Seattle. But she still felt guilt eating bloody chunks from her soul in multiple places, as Johnny ordered a reserve bottle of wine with a pearly-white smile.

There were a few select ways that Johnny and Mark were in fact similar. Both relied on their charm and their old money to get them out of situations, both loved expensive cologne and designer shoes more than any woman in their life ever would. And Clementine had met both in a hospital, albeit intensely different circumstances.

Johnny, to his credit, seemed fine to sit in silence and stare at a blanched Clementine, to peruse the menu of the overly-expensive French restaurant he chose. Seeing his high cheekbones, his familiar golden necklace, after all of these months, it was hard not to reminisce on times that Clem had considered him the love of her life.

Clementine had been dreading her Psychology clerkship her last year of medical school. She'd put it off until the last second, until Ani had nearly beaten her ass with a thick Pharmacology textbook and she'd been forced to go through with it. Clem, as a rule, had hated shrinks. She'd had court-ordered ones and Tahir-ordered ones, too, and none of them had done anything but make her feel like shit when she had two jobs and an intensive degree to complete. But she'd sucked it up and painted on a brave face, had arrived to NY Presbyterian with her veins thrumming with an appropriate amount of caffeine, and had come face to face with Johnny Marigold, second year Psych resident.

She hadn't wanted to hit it off with him. As a surgeon, Psych people were generally regarded as the rejects, the people who couldn't stomach the gore medical school put them through. But Johnny had had an intense fascination with the development of psychosis and the brain chemistry involved, and when he offered Clem the last cherry jello, she'd asked him boldly out to drinks that very night.

They fit well together... somehow. Clementine was early-twenties jaded but still wise and kind, the kind of person you wanted to bring to a family dinner because she could tolerate bullshit with a kind smile and several sarcastic comments behind closed doors. Johnny was almost too easygoing, hiding his intelligence with his wide knowledge of social cues and an amiable penchant for Hallmark movies. Clementine was the top-of-her-class student who successfully hid her dilapidated apartment and Goodwill clothes from everyone. Johnny was from a longstanding liberal Vermont family, old bloodline now diluted with several different ethnicities via adoption and mixed-race marriage before it was "cool". He volunteered his time in left-leaning elections and went back to his prepaid apartment, while Clementine worked at dive bars and had to live with her roommate's whippet habit as long as she paid her bills on time.

But it worked wonderfully well. By the time Clem had finished med school and Johnny was a senior resident, they were looking for studios halfway between NY Pres and the Irving Medical Center and debating whether or not they could keep a few fish alive. And then--

"You look nice," Johnny began, offering her a piece of focaccia from the table.

Clementine waved it away and resisted the urge to roll her eyes-- she didn't want to look too rude. She'd just emerged from a five hour surgery and had been too preoccupied with a residual trauma response that morning to bother with looking nice. Her hair was escaping its braids in a hazy cloud, her mascara was probably smeared, and she'd fished a pair of overalls and a caramel sweater from her dirty laundry in a last-minute rush. She looked like a farm girl, and Johnny as always was in hemmed slacks and a purposefully frumpy sweater and a scarf. Once upon a time, she'd been engaged to a man who wore scarves as fashion statements.