chapter 16
yesterday
It had been two weeks since the bombing incident, and the halls of the hospital still echoed with the phantom blast. Two weeks since Blake had broken her arm. Two weeks since the suffocating loneliness in the aftermath.
The sling had finally come off the day before. But the weight of the trauma lingered, a dull ache that mirrored the throbbing in her mended arm. Leaning against the lockers, she found herself beside George, who was fixated on Meredith. The blonde sat hunched over, a statue of despair etched on her face.
"What's with her?" Blake asked.
"No idea," George shook his head. "How's your arm?"
"Feeling free," she sarcastically smiled, a hint of the old Blake peeking through. As she shifted toward her locker, she missed the lingering look George had sent her way, a look that held a mixture of concern and something more.
The locker room door clanged open. Cristina burst in, a whirlwind of frustration and barely contained anger. She tossed her bag into her locker with more force than necessary.
"You know, he's acting like I committed a crime," Cristina ranted, her voice laced with disbelief. "Like my apartment is full of stolen goods. He's acting like I kept my apartment to hide stolen goods so I can do illegal transplants for money!"
"Are you sure he's just not acting like you lied about moving in?" Meredith offered, raising a brow.
Cristina spun around, her eyes landing on Blake, who just shrugged and shook her head. "Okay, what's wrong with you?" Cristina asked.
Meredith finally lifted her head, her eyes vacant. In a voice devoid of emotion, she spoke, "My mommy's a filthy whore."
As the interns stared at each other, Blake chuckled, "Should I be glad mine's not in my life?" She offered.
"Yes," Meredith and Cristina replied in unison.
▼▲▼
Bailey's interns huddled around a patient's bed, Chuck Eaton. Meredith, fiddling with her coat sleeve, recited the man's medical history—a litany of diagnosis. Stage 3B lung cancer, a history of COPD, minimal response to treatment...all culminating in the upcoming radical surgery, a desperate gamble for a man facing a 25% chance of survival.
Blake listened with one ear, the other tuned into the dull ache throbbing in her left shoulder. Maybe it was a mistake, taking the sling off so soon. Every movement sent a jolt of pain through her arm. She winced subtly, her hand instinctively reaching up to massage her shoulder jolt.
By the time her attention fully returned to the patient, the consult was over. The group shuffled out of the room, a silent procession toward the next case. Alex, his brow furrowed with concern, sent a questioning glance Blake's way.
"Hey, you okay?" He asked softly.
Blake forced a smile, her voice brittle. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" She said. Alex raised an eyebrow, shooting her a look. "Honestly, I'm fine. It's just a little bit of pain, it's not going to kill me."
"If you say so," he muttered. Frustration bubbled inside her. Was everyone going to harp on about the stupid shoulder? She quickened her pace to put some distance between them.
They were intercepted by Bailey, who held a two-week-old baby in her arms. Taking maternity leave had softened the resident a touch, but her efficiency remained.
"Are the OR's up and running?" She inquired, her gaze sweeping over the group.
Cristina jumped in with a response. "Uh, yeah, they're fully functional. Uh, except there's some smoke damage to the corridors."
Bailey's gaze flicked to Meredith and Blake, the two interns that were involved in the explosion. "How about you two? Are you fully functional?"
"I'm fine," Meredith replied.
"Good to go," Blake assured, offering a tight smile.. "How's your husband?"
"We'll take him home tomorrow," Bailey answered. Baby Tuck made a cute noise, making Bailey respond in a baby voice. "Yes, we are. Yeah. Yeah." Izzie joined in, cooing at the baby and telling him how cute he is. Bailey raised an eyebrow at her intern. "Okay, this is not a tea party. Go work. Save some lives. Now!"
▼▲▼
"Jake Burton, 15, has advanced craniodiaphyseal dysplasia," Blake presented in the patient's room. "Jake was admitted last night after complaining of headaches." The boy, Jake, laid propped up in the bed. His wide, expressive eyes held a youthful spark, at odds with the bony tumors on his skull. Blake couldn't help but notice the way her fellow interns had to contain their shock and interest in the boy's features.
"And he's not a complainer," Jake's mom chimed in, her voice thick with worry.
His dad nodded. "He's been having some nausea as well."
"Okay, may I?" Derek inquired politely as he walked toward the bed. The boy nodded. "Jake, can I get you to sit up, please? And I want you to look right here for me." He pointed at a spot with his finger.
Jake's gaze drifted toward Cristina, who stood awkwardly at the end of the bed. An uncomfortable silence settled in the room.
"You know," Jake pumped up, his voice surprisingly light, "if you pretend I'm a lion, it helps."
"Sorry?" She questioned, caught off guard.
"If you pretend I'm a lion, instead of a really messed-up kid," Jake explained patiently, "you get a talking circus animal, which is way easier to look at." A broad grin spread across his face.
A suppressed chuckle escaped Derek's lips. "Dr. Beckett, what's our immediate concern?"
Blake stepped forward, eager to contribute. "That the bony tumors are growing inward and encroaching on his brain," she replied confidently. She had briefly read up on the case before rounds so she was ready and on top of her game. Derek nodded in approval just as Cristina shared another awkward look with Jake, making Blake laugh under her breath.
As the group dispersed, Derek lingered in the hallway just outside of the room, catching Blake as she walked out. "You want in on this case?"
"Are you kidding me?" She lightheartedly scoffed. "Of course I want in on this case. But you know my friends are starting to call me a neuro junkie."
Derek laughed at that. "Well, that sounds like it's their problem for not stealing all the good cases." He grinned, handing her the chart. "You're okay, though? After everything that happened?"
"I'm fine," she assured him, a little too quickly. "Do you want me to order those labs?"
He sighed. "Yeah, that would be great." Blake nodded and made her way to the elevator. She rolled her shoulder a couple of times, trying to get the dull pain to go away.
▼▲▼
The elevator doors slid open, momentarily breaking Blake's focus on her medical journal. Stepping aside to let an incoming passenger board, she barely registered the man—leather jacket, dark hair shot with silver—as he entered. He looked her up and down appreciatively, a fact she missed.
She dove back into the article, her mind swimming with complex medical terminology. Craniodiaphyseal dysplasia—a case so rare, there's only around 20 documented cases worldwide.
"Good morning," the man greeted, his voice a warm rumble that snapped her focus.
"Morning," she replied with a polite smile, her attention already tugging back toward the article.
The subtle shift in the air alerted her. He was closer now, his presence looming as he leaned in to peek over her shoulder. Blake arched an eyebrow, a question forming in her eyes.
"Craniodiaphyseal dysplasia? Are you a surgeon?" He inquired, his gaze lingering a touch too long on the curve of her neck.
"Surgical intern," she corrected, a professional edge creeping into her voice. "Blake Beckett." She offered, hoping a firm handshake would set the boundaries clear.
He clasped her hand. His touch sending a spark through her she couldn't quite explain. "Mark Sloan," he introduced himself, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her cheeks warm. They weren't the kind of eyes that missed much, their bright blue depths scanning her with a predatory gleam.
"Got a patient with it or reading out of interest?" He pressed, unwilling to let the conversation die.
"Fifteen-year-old boy," she replied, forcing her gaze back to the article. He was undeniably attractive. But professionalism was paramount, and she wouldn't let a pretty face distract her.
However, Mark seemed oblivious to the subtle brush-off. "Poor kid," he drawled, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "This city is truly depressing, only been here a day and the rain has already made me want to stay in bed all day."
"You get used to it," she replied with a wry smile, the elevator doors sighing open once more. Stepping out, she caught Mark following suit, a playful glint in her eyes. "Are you following me?"
"If you want me to," he countered, his charm bordering on arrogant. A mischievous light flickered in her eyes, warring with the voice of caution whispering in her head.
"Should I be worried?" She couldn't help but ask, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
Before Mark could respond, a blur of movement filled her vision. Derek Shepherd materialized out of nowhere, his fist connection with Mark's face with a sickening crack. Blake's eyes widening in shock as she stumbled back, the medical article dropping to the floor forgotten. Derek winced, shaking out his injured hand.
"What the hell, Shepherd!" Blake exclaimed, rushing past him to kneel beside the now-stunned Mark. Her training kicked in, her fingers working quickly to assess the damage. Mark cradled his throbbing jaw, his initial glare at Derek replaced by a mixture of awe and surprise as Blake's cool touch soothed the injured area.
Derek's face contorted with a mix of anger. "That," he spat, his glare fixed on Mark, "was Mark."
▼▲▼
The antiseptic sting of the povidone-iodine brought Mark back to the present, momentarily breaking his daze as Blake cared for his wound. He couldn't help but steal glances at her, the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the soft focus in her eyes as she worked. A reluctant smile tugged at his lips, and Blake, catching a glimpse of it, tried to stifle a smile of her own.
"So..." she began, her voice light, "not only are you Dr. Mark Sloan, the Michelangelo of plastics according to the gossip, but you're also the infamous Mark Sloan who messed up Derek Shepherd's marriage." Her words were carefully measured, laced with a hint of amusement.
Mark chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine despite herself. "My $400-an-hour shrink says that it's because behind this rugged and confident exterior, I'm self-destructive and self-loathing to an almost pathological degree," he drawled, his gaze flickering to hers for a beat before returning to the ceiling.
Blake raised an eyebrow, skepticism coloring her features. "What does that have to do with what I said, Dr. Sloan?"
"Ugh, don't do that," he groaned, wincing as she dabbed the antiseptic solution a little too close to the cut. "Calling me Dr. Sloan is just cold." His voice was laced with something that sounded suspiciously like disappointment.
Blake couldn't resist a playful smile. Before he could launch into another one of his self-deprecating monologues, she cupped his chin, gently tilting his head to give her a better angle on the cut. "It keeps things professional," she explained, her voice a teasing whisper.
He let out a soft laugh, the sound richer this time, devoid of the earlier cynicism. As she prepped the suture kit, he reached out, his hand hovering over hers before landing gently on her wrist. The unexpected touch sent a jolt through Blake, making her stumble back slightly. Her eyes darted between his hand and his face, searching for his intention.
"What do you think you're doing?" He questioned, his voice slightly panicked.
She tilted her head, confused. "I'm about to suture your face. You need stitches, and—"
"I know," he finished. He reached for the tray beside him, retrieving a small mirror. "Hold the mirror."
Blake stared at him, dumbfounded for a moment. Then, a slow smile spread across her face, genuine and amused. "You're kidding, right?" She asked, disbelief coloring her tone.
Marks' lips twitched, a hint of a smile threatening to break through his carefully constructed facade. "Completely serious, sweetheart. Now hold the mirror still, would you?"
Shaking her head in disbelief, Blake reached out and took the mirror. She turned toward the window, where her friends were clustered around the nurses' station. Raising the mirror for Mark, she caught her friends' eye and gave them a look—a wide-eyed, exasperated expression that said, 'Can you believe this is happening right now?'
A peal of laughter from the nurses' station died down as Meredith, Izzie, and Cristina exchanged satisfied glances.
"Why is he suturing his own face?" George blurted, his voice tight with confusion and jealousy.
Cristina offered a nonchalant shrug, practically purring out her response. "To turn me on."
Alex scoffed, rolling his eyes. "'Cause he's Mark Sloan. He's like the go-to plastic surgeon on the East Coast."
George's jaw clenched. "That's the guy Addison was sleeping with?" The words tumbled out in a low whisper, disbelief coloring his tone.
Izzie offered a dreamy sigh. "Well, you can't really blame her, can you?"
"No, not really," Meredith agreed.
"Yes, you can!" George spat out.
Blake, oblivious to the mini-explosion she'd triggered, approached the group, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Dr. Sloan wants to get an x-ray to check for fractures. Can any of you do it?"
"Why?" George asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
Alex didn't hesitate. "I'm on it!" He practically leaped forward, eager to get a closer look at the legendary plastic surgeon.
"Why don't you want to take him?" George pressed, his jealousy bubbling just beneath the surface.
"He keeps flirting with me," Blake answered.
"Flirting," George mumbled under his breath, the word tasting like ash in his mouth.
"Don't be jealous, Georgie," Blake teased, an amused smile on her face.
"Jealous? I'm...I'm not—I'm not jealous," he stammered, his voice tripping over his jumbled emotions.
"Well, I for one," Meredith chimed in, her voice a low murmur, "wouldn't mind having McSexy flirt with me."
"McSexy?" Cristina quirked an eyebrow, the nickname landing with a dull thud.
"Too bland," Blake offered, shaking her head dismissively.
"McYummy?" Izzie suggested, her voice filled with a hopeful lilt.
Blake watched as Mark followed Alex out of the room, a trail of gossiping nurses whispering his name in their wake. A slow smile spread across her face as she came up with a name.
"McSteamy," she breathed out, the name a perfect encapsulation of the man—a walking contradiction of arrogance and undeniable charisma.
"Ah, there it is," Cristina hummed.
Meanwhile, George stared at the four women, disturbed. "Ugh, I'm just...choking back some McVomit."
▼▲▼
Later in the day, in the CT room with Jake, Blake was tasked with getting him prepared for his scan. "Okay, Jake," she began, her voice adopting a gentle lilt. "It can get a little cramped in there, so you have to try not to move."
Jake, laying on the patient table, offered a nonchalant shrug. "Yeah, uh, this is like my 50th MRI experience," he said, gesturing to his face.
Embarrassment tinged Blake's cheeks. "Right, sorry," she sheepishly said, feeling foolish for making the mistake.
"It's okay," he said with a casual wave of his hand. "You have really nice eyes, you know?"
Blake, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment, arched an eyebrow in amusement. "Is that so?" She replied, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"Yeah," he pressed, his voice sincere. "Like, there's a real wisdom in them, almost like your soul is older than you are." His words, spoken with honesty, sent a warmth fluttering through her chest.
Blake chuckled softly. "Well, you know what they say, the eyes are the window to the soul."
"I'm really big on eyes," he confided. "They're the only part of my face where a tumor isn't growing." A hint of sadness flickered across his features.
"Yeah, you've got nice eyes," Blake agreed, offering a genuine compliment of her own.
A blush crept up Jake's neck, and he stammered, "You—you get that I'm jailbait, right?"
Blake shook her head with a slight laugh. "I gotta say, you're definitely my favorite patient."
Jake smiled. "You're definitely my favorite doctor. Don't tell Dr. Shepherd I said that."
▼▲▼
"Have you booked the OR yet, Beckett?" Derek asked, his voice clipped as he continued to look at the chart in his hands.
"Yes, sir," Blake confirmed, keeping pace with him as they walked toward Jake's room. "OR 1 is ready for us at four."
An appreciative smile was her only response which soon faded when he noticed who was in Jake's room. Mark Sloan stood by Jake's bedside, a cocky grin plastered on his face. Alex Karev leaned against the wall opposite him, a look of amusement dancing in his eyes.
Blake's eyes widened at the sight of both of them. Mark's gaze flicked toward her for a fleeting moment, a hint of amusement flickering within his eyes before he refocused on Derek.
"Dr. Sloan," Derek spat out, his voice laced with barely contained fury. "Is there something I can help you with?" The question dripped with sarcasm, a clear challenge hanging heavy in the air.
Jake, oblivious to the tension, practically vibrated with excitement. He whipped his head toward Derek and Blake, his voice tinged with a desperate hope. "He says he can fix my face! He says he can make me look normal."
Blake's gaze darted from the teenager back to Mark. A slow burn ignited in her chest. The charming smirk he flashed her—a smirk she was sure he thought was irresistible—did nothing to extinguish the fire in her eyes.
Derek scoffed, a low humorless sound that echoed in the small room. He rolled his eyes, clearly disgusted by the entire situation.
▼▲▼
"What did he say?" Alex asked from next to Blake. He had dragged Cristina into the situation as well, hoping to have someone who wouldn't make him feel bad about introducing Sloan to Jake. "Did you hear that?"
Cristina let out an "Ooh," squinting as she tried to read the lips of the two angry men in the chief's office. "Did he just call him a crack whore."
Alex put his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes at Cristina, ignoring Blake. "Why would he call him a crack whore?"
"Are you sure it wasn't man whore?" Blake questioned, putting some sensibility into the situation.
"Oh, shut up," Cristina scolded. "I'm trying to read lips."
"You shut up, crack whore," Alex bit back.
"Oh, Shepherd's gesturing," Blake pointed out.
"What do you got?" George asked, walking up to the trio.
"Shepherd and Sloan battling it out," Alex explained. He looked over at him with raised brows. "Why? What do you got?"
Blake noticed that George was trying—and failing—to act nonchalant. "Oh, nothing," he drawled. "Just a woman...down in the ER...having spontaneous orgasms."
They all shared a look and Alex quickly ran down the hall with George. Cristina and Blake both let out yells, rushing after them.
"Hey! Hey, no fair!"
▼▲▼
"I think you're making it up," Alex accused playfully as he, Izzie, and George joined Blake, Meredith, and Cristina at their usual table in the courtyard.
"He's not," Izzie defended, a mischievous glint in her brown eyes.
"I'm not," George chimed in.
"I saw it four times," Izzie continued, leaning in conspiratorially.
"What?" Meredith queried. Blake swatted playfully at George's hand, which was grabbing for her applesauce container.
"A woman with spontaneous orgasms," Blake said, slightly rolling her eyes since she didn't believe it was true either.
"Oh, yeah," Cristina drawled sarcastically, skepticism lacing her tone. "Uh-huh."
Meredith sat up straight, her posture mirroring. "Really?"
"You're just jealous 'cause you didn't see it yourself," George grinned, his face lighting up with a smug satisfaction.
"Dude, I totally am," Alex admitted, a hint of disappointment coloring his voice.
"Spontaneous orgasms, really?" Meredith asked in disbelief.
"Any chance they're contagious," Cristina joked, but in all reality, she was serious.
"Spontaneous orgasms, that would solve so many problems," Meredith quipped, a teasing smile gracing her lips.
"You know, it's like, you see someone throw up, makes you wanna throw up too. Kinda like that?" Blake pondered aloud, looking up from her salad to gauge the reactions.
"Kinda like," Izzie replied, her gaze flitting to Alex, who was sporting a wide grin and trying his best to stifle a laugh. A blush crept up her cheeks, and she bit her lip to contain a laugh as Blake rolled her eyes at the two. "You know what? I'm not hungry. Do you hear me? I'm not hungry. Neither is the Beast."
"What the hell is that?" Blake furrowed her brow, completely bewildered by the blonde's abrupt change in demeanor and cryptic statement. She watched as Izzie rose from the table and walked away, leaving the others confused and amused. Blake's eyes darted to Alex, a silent question hanging in the air.
Cristina echoed Blake's thoughts. "The Beast? Is that, like, some sly reference to your penis?"
"Get your mind out of the gutter, crack whore," Alex retorted, a smirk playing on his lips. The comment elicited a round of laughter from the others.
George, who seemed to have all the answers, spilled some information about Izzie's 'Beast.' "No, it's not Alex's penis. It's—you know when you haven't had sex for a long time and you forget how good it is, and so you want it less?" He chimed in, making the girls at the table look at him weirdly.
"Yeah, that doesn't happen to me," Meredith shook her head.
"Me either," Cristina chimed in.
"I don't think that happens to anyone."
▼▲▼
Blake leaned against the table near the end of Jake's bed, her brow furrowed in concentration as she meticulously reviewed his chart. Every so often, she'd steal a glance upward, her gaze flickering to Dr. Sloan's focused expression as he meticulously mapped out the contours of Jake's face with a surgical pen. Alex stood beside her, his posture rigid and arms crossed, his steely gaze fixed on Sloan's every move. Derek Shepherd had purposefully instructed Blake to remain in the room. It was a thinly veiled attempt to keep Mark Sloan from making any moves on his patient.
"You're drawing the medial to the tumor?" Alex finally spoke up. Mark turned to look at him, his displeasure evident in the deep furrow of his brow, before schooling his features back into a mask of professional indifference and refocusing on his task.
"It's a guideline for what the bone structure should be," Mark replied curtly.
A weak smile played on Blake's lips as Jake's head lolled slightly toward her, his voice raspy but laced with childish enthusiasm. "You hear that, Dr. B? I'm gonna have bone structure."
Derek entered the room at that moment, flanked by Jake's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Burton. Blake swiftly closed Jake's chart and straightened her posture, assuming a professional demeanor.
"What do you think? Am I a Dalí or more of a Picasso?" Jake asked his parents. A ghost of a smile flitted across Mark's face.
"Can you stop doing that for a minute, please?" Mr. Burton interjected, his voice strained with worry as he addressed Dr. Sloan. Mark stood up, raising his hands slightly in surrender.
"Jake," Mr. Burton began. "Jake, I'm sorry. This surgery. The brain surgery is very dangerous."
"No, don't say that!" Jake pleaded, his voice cracking with fear. "Y-you don't get to change your mind!"
Blake let out a sympathetic sigh, her heart clenching at the sight of such a vibrant boy battling despair. She exchanged a worried glance with Derek, silently questioning his next move.
"Jake," Derek began, his voice calm and measured, "I know that Dr. Sloan here has made some big promises, but the bony tumors inside your skull are bad."
"I don't care!" Jake cried out, his defiance laced with a tremor of vulnerability.
Blake's heart ached for the boy. It was a cruel twist of fate that such a bright, funny, and optimistic young man could despise his own reflection. She watched Derek intently, eager to see how Derek would navigate this situation.
"The bleeding will be hard to control," Derek continued, his tone gentle yet firm. "I'm not trying to frighten you, I just want you to understand."
Tears welled up in Jake's eyes as he glared between his parents and Dr. Shepherd. "I do understand," he choked out. "I understand that this has nothing to do with plastic surgery. So, if I'm gonna be under the knife anyway then I—"
"Son, the plastic surgery can be done at some other time," Mr. Burton interrupted, his voice laced with panic at his son's dismissal of his own life.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Mark stepped in. Derek glared at him, choosing to ignore him.
"What you need to understand—" Derek raised his voice.
"Excuse me, Jake is actually right," Mark chimed in again. "No reason to put him through a second surgery and a second round of anesthesia, it's much safer to just do it all at once."
"Dr. Beckett," Jake's voice filled the silence, his eyes pleading. "What do you think?" Jake asked the intern.
Blake felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach. She wasn't necessarily comfortable being put on the spot, especially with such a controversial decision. "Jake, I'm just an intern, I don't—" she began.
"I know," Jake interrupted, "but I want to hear what you think. I trust you, Dr. B."
"I—" she sighed, looking at Derek with an apologetic look. "I think Dr. Sloan has a point. There's no reason to be put through a second round of anesthesia and surgery. It would be safer to do them at the same time."
A slow smile spread across Mark's face, a silent acknowledgement of her agreement. He leaned back slightly, his eyes lingering on Blake with a hint of amusement. "Why, thank you, Dr. Beckett."
Mrs. Burton reached for her son's hand, her eyes welling up with tears. "Honey," she said softly, "we just want to focus on keeping you alive."
Jake pulled his hand away gently. "Come on, Mom," he said, his voice tinged with frustration. "I almost died when I was 10 years old. And then again when I was 12. And then again last year. But—but I'm still alive! I'm still alive, so I say we go for it. Look, I—I know that you think I'm perfect just the way I am but that's your job to do that. But for once in my life I'd like to think that someone else thought that. Please?"
Derek told them they'd step outside and give the family a moment. Derek walked out first, his face flushed with anger. Mark followed close behind. Alex lingered for a moment, his expression a mixture of amusement and concern. With a final, awkward look at Jake and his tearful parents, Blake hurried after her superiors.
The hallway echoed with the click of their shoes as they marched away from the room. Once a safe distance away, Derek spun around, his posture rigid and his jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed as he glared at Blake.
"Dr. Beckett, what the hell was that?" His voice was a low growl, barely contained.
Blake squared her shoulders. "Dr. Shepherd, I'm sorry—" she started.
"You're on my service," Derek interrupted harshly. "That means you advocate for my surgery over an unnecessary cosmetic procedure."
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Blake met his gaze head-on. She'd never been one to back down from a challenge, especially when she believed she was right. Being yelled at by a superior was never pleasant, but she wouldn't be swayed.
"Derek—" Mark began, stepping forward in a protective stance. He couldn't help but admire Blake's courage in the face of Derek's wrath.
"Dr. Shepherd," Blake continued, her voice firm but respectful, "respectfully, the patient asked me for my opinion. I'm sorry that I didn't advocate for your surgery, I'm sorry that I went against your wishes. However, I am not sorry for advocating for my patient."
Derek seemed momentarily stunned into silence. He hadn't anticipated such a strong rebuttal from the intern. Perhaps he'd underestimated her.
Mark watched the exchange with a newfound respect for Blake. Her unwavering commitment to her patient and her willingness to stand up to Derek was impressive. The spark of attraction he felt toward her earlier only intensified.
"Respectfully," Blake added after a beat. "I think I've made my point." With that, she pivoted on her heel and began walking away, leaving the stunned doctors in her wake.
▼▲▼
Blake, now clad in a blue surgical gown and a matching cap, approached the table where Jake Burton was. "Hey, Jake," she greeted him with a warm smile, her voice a soothing counterpoint.
"Dr. B, my favorite doctor," Jake replied, a genuine grin splitting his face.
Blake chuckled, a soft sound that echoed in the vast room. "My favorite patient," she teased playfully as she busied herself with replacing his IV fluids. "I just wanted to check on you. How're you feeling?"
Jake let out a shaky breath. "Good," he began, his voice wavering slightly. "Anxious. Excited." He took a deep breath, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "Really excited. Maybe now, girls will actually like me."
Blake moved so she was standing at his bedside. "I'm really happy for you."
"Yeah, I'm happy too," he laughed.
"But for the record," Blake said, lowering her voice so only Jake could hear. "If girls don't like you for who you are, tumors and all, then they don't deserve you."
"Thanks, Dr. B," Jake grinned, his voice thick with gratitude. "You know, all I've ever wanted was to be normal. And now, I finally get to live a normal life."
The sound of a door swinging open shattered the quiet moment. Mark entered the room, followed by an irritated Derek.
"Ready to go?" Mark boomed, clapping his hands together.
"Ready," Jake confirmed, a newfound determination filling his voice. He looked up at Blake, his gaze filled with a mixture of hope. "See you on the other side, Dr. B?"
"See you," she smiled at him.
▼▲▼
Blake had been silent throughout the entire surgery, scared Derek was still mad at her. She stood beside Alex, observing as Derek worked and Sloan waited for his turn to operate.
Blake didn't comprehend much, just watching, her heart breaking every minute Jake flatlined. Her wide, sad eyes went to Alex, who was watching with slightly sadness of his own.
Sure, Alex hated when they lost patients, especially young ones. But Blake absolutely loathed it. She had liked the kid, he had liked her. Alex would go as far as saying that Jake was more her patient than Shepherd's or Sloan's.
Derek let out a long sigh, closing his eyes. He handed his instruments back to the scrub nurse, heading to the scrub room.
"Call it, Dr. Beckett," he ordered.
Blake cleared her throat, looking at the clock on the wall. Her voice was shaky as she spoke, "Time of death 17:02."
▼▲▼
The aftermath of the surgery clung to the air, a suffocating weight that mirrored the crushing grief in Blake's chest. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the image of the empty bed where Jake had once been so full of life. He was so young, so full of hope, and so willing to risk everything for a chance at normalcy. A single, heartbreaking image flickered in her mind—Jake's hopeful smile as he spoke of finally being seen. It was a vision she couldn't let fade.
Fueled by a desperate need to do something, anything, to honor his memory, Blake wiped her tears and marched toward the attending's locker room. Reaching the room, she knocked on the door.
"Dr. Sloan?" She called out.
"Yeah," she heard a voice answer. She opened the door but didn't walk inside. When she saw that he was shirtless, a blush crept up her cheeks, and she quickly averted her gaze, staring intently at the floor.
"Um, I was thinking, is there any way we could still operate on Jake's face? It was all he wanted..."
Silence descended upon the room. Blake held her breath, bracing herself for a negative response. Then, she felt it—the weight of Mark's gaze burning into her. Slowly, she lifted her head, a sliver of hope flickering in her chest.
Mark stood across from her, his usual demeanor replaced by a thoughtful expression. He studied her for a long moment, his eyes seemingly searching her soul. The raw emotion radiating from her, the sheer determination etched on her face, seemed to touch something deep within him. In her grief, there was a spark—a spark of hope, of compassion. Perhaps, in the midst of this tragedy, there was still a chance to do something good.
"I'll try to get his parents' consent," Mark finally stated.
▼▲▼
"I got the parents approval," Mark stated, walking into the morgue. His voice was softer than Blake expected. She offered a ghost of a smile, her throat too tight to speak.
As they prepped for the operation, Blake and Alex reached for surgical masks.
"You don't...really need those," Mark interjected, a sad lilt to his voice.
"Yeah..." Blake mumbled as she lowered the mask from her face.
With a deep breath, she focused on the task at hand. Scalpels gleamed in the harsh overhead lights as they began the delicate work of sculpting Jake's features. Blake's movements were careful, precise, fueled by a deep respect for the boy beneath her.
"Dr. Sloan?" She interjected softly.
Mark looked up from his area of focus, his gaze meeting hers. "Yeah?" He replied gently.
"His eyes shouldn't change," Blake whispered, her voice cracking slightly. "He liked his eyes."
There was a flicker of something akin to tenderness in Mark's eyes as he met her gaze. He understood. "Of course," he said with a reassuring smile, appreciating the quiet strength and unwavering compassion Blake held.
▼▲▼
The lights of the deserted nurses' station cast a glow on Blake's weary face. Exhaustion clung to her, the emotional weight of the day a heavy burden on her shoulders. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she realized that her shift had ended fifteen minutes ago. Yet, the haven of the hospital offered a strange comfort, a refuge from the storm of emotions churning within her.
Her gaze drifted down to her phone, a beacon of unwelcome distraction in the otherwise quiet room. A single text message notification was on the screen. With a hesitant sigh, she unlocked the phone and reread the message for what felt like the hundredth time:
Wanna come over? We should talk.
The sender's name—Ethan—sent a jolt through her. It was a name she hadn't seen light up her screen in what felt like an eternity. They'd been seeing each other, stolen moments sandwiched between her grueling schedule and his...well, whatever it was that kept him so unavailable. Then, radio silence. A month of unanswered texts, ignored calls, and a gnawing emptiness that had slowly morphed into a dull ache.
Now, this. Two simple questions sent her heart into a frantic tap dance against her ribs. Was this some cruel joke? An attempt to further twist the knife already lodged deep within her. Anger flared briefly. But then, a flicker of something else flickered to life—a sliver of hope, fragile and easily extinguished. But maybe he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this.
She was interrupted from her thoughts by George walking up to her. His usual grin was plastered across his face. A wave of weariness washed over her—the last thing she needed right now was social interaction.
"Blake!" He said like he had been looking everywhere for her and was just now finding her.
Blake offered him a weak smile, her melancholic mood evident in the droop of her shoulders. "Hey, George."
He didn't seem to notice her downcast demeanor, his enthusiasm undimmed. "So, listen," he began, fidgeting slightly, "I was wondering...would you maybe want to..." He stammered for a moment, his cheeks flushing a light pink. "Would you want to grab a drink sometime? Maybe not at Joe's—maybe some place where we can talk?"
Blake sighed internally. She'd known, deep down, that this day was coming. Ever since their first awkward shift together, it had been clear that George harbored a soft spot for her. His lingering gazes, the way he went out of his way to help her with difficult patients—it all painted a rather obvious picture.
Now, here he was, finally mustering the courage to ask her out. And, of course, it had to be tonight, the worst possible time. The weight of the day's events—the surgery, Jake's tragic loss, the lingering text from Ethan—pressed down on her like a physical burden. The thought of socializing, of putting on a brave face and engaging in small talk, felt utterly exhausting.
"I can't, George," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "Not today."
"Well, maybe tomorrow? Or this weekend?" He continued, disappointment flickering across his face, a fleeting shadow that tugged at her heartstrings. He wasn't the most eloquent guy, but his kindness and genuine nature were undeniable.
"Maybe," she offered, giving him a small shrug. Rising from her chair, she offered a weak smile. "I should probably get going. Long day."
"Yeah, of course," George agreed, his chipper demeanor slightly subdued. "See you around, Blake." He watched her walk away, a hopeful smile lingering on his face.
Blake didn't reply, simply offering a tired wave over her shoulder. As she stepped out of the deserted nurses' station, the weight of the unanswered text message and George's unspoken feelings pressed down on her. Tonight, there would be no answers, no solace. Just the quiet hum of the hospital and the relentless echo of her own thoughts.
▼▲▼
The exhaustion from the day clung to Blake like a second skin as she exited her car. The streetlights cast long, eerie shadows that stretched like grasping fingers across the uneven pavement. Her phone remained clutched tightly in her hand, the unanswered text a beacon pulling her toward Ethan's apartment building.
Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. The unanswered text had gnawed at her all evening, morphing from annoyance to a flicker of tentative hope. Maybe there was an explanation. Maybe...
Her thoughts were shattered by a soft gasp from behind her. Whirling around, she came face to face with a woman. Streetlight illuminated a face etched with worry lines, a pair of eyes that mirrored her own startled gaze. The woman's auburn hair, streaked with silver, was pulled back in a messy ponytail, highlighting the familiar curve of her cheekbones and the slight upturn at the corners of her mouth. A face...a face that shouldn't exist in Blake's world.
"Blake?" The woman whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and something else—a raw, aching vulnerability that resonated deep within Blake's soul.
The blood drained from Blake's face. Her phone slipped from her numb fingers, clattering onto the pavement with a hollow thud. This wasn't possible. This couldn't be real.
The woman hesitantly reached out a hand, her fingers hovering inches from Blake's cheek. "It's me," she choked out, tears welling in her eyes. "It's your mother."
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The weight of the day all felt insignificant to the earth-shattering revelation before her. Standing in the dimly lit doorway, tears streaming down her face, was a ghost from Blake's past—a ghost she never knew existed.
The woman offered a shaky smile. "I...I came to explain."
words: 6661
—season two, episode 18
" yesterday "
authors note.
mcsteamy is finally here !!! you have no idea how excited i was to write this chapter. also next chapter, even more mcsteamy in blake's life.
the next chapter is gonna be kinda rough on blake as well so be prepared for that
also btw ive been picturing monica bellucci as blake's mom if you wanted to put a face to the name
i hope you guys liked this chapter, let me know what you think and don't forget to vote/comment
adios 💗✌️