Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬𝟯𝟳 petunia

𝙓𝙓𝙓𝙑𝙄𝙄.
PETUNIA

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NEW YORK

I HAD TO choose carefully.

The fourth year in medical school meant placement in a Manhattan hospital.

And although the tiny island had a thousand practices crammed into its streets, a Manhattan hospital meant a fifty/fifty chance of working with someone who already knew me. I'd had to sit down one night and write it all out.

Addison had Bellevue tied down, Archer seemed to wander between his clinic and Manhattan East, Derek had New York Pres as his playground and Mark would tell anyone who had ears that Lincoln Memorial was where you needed to be when it came to surgical innovation.

Even Amy had gotten her shit together long enough for her to get a residency at Manhattan East. I crossed each placement off my list and sighed— that left one of my top five.

Manhattan West Hospital was nice. It'd started as an open sexual health clinic in the wake of the AIDs crisis set up by ManEast, but soon seemed to pick up speed and turn towards surgical teaching.

It was a little further than I would have liked to commute, but I saw that as an opportunity to learn Manhattan a bit more. It wasn't the top teaching hospital in Manhattan by any means but it seemed to attract some of the highest risk traumas in the Tristate area; during my placement interview, I'd listened in awe to the intercom as they demanded medical aid in their ER department.

It was new, it was shiny and most importantly: none of my immediate family or friends worked there. I'd signed the contract as soon as they'd offered it.

"You're not supposed to take the first placement you're offered." Addison had scolded me, my contract in her hand and her glasses balancing on the top of her nose.

We'd sat around the lounge in her brownstone, her friend from medical school, Naomi, sat opposite the two of us. Her husband, Sam, was busy pouring Bloody Mary's in the kitchen; it was a Tuesday evening. I'd watched with raised eyebrows as she flicked through the placement contract.

"You've got to be more competitive than that," She said, "you've got to be hot product— you've got to get them to beg—"

"Okay, okay," I'd cut her off, my eyes wide. "I didn't realise they needed to seduce me—"

"No— you need to seduce them."

She had been persistent; this lead to Sam shooting the two of us odd looks as he walked into the room, cocktails balancing in his hands. Addison's glance around the room had been tainted with a tiny bit of exasperation.

"You need to get their attention and make them work for it," Addison kept going and I was, for a moment, so worried that she'd never stop, "No wonder your love life isn't going very well, you have no idea how to keep people interested-"

"Addie," Naomi took initiative to interrupt. She shot my sister a look, one that had Addison sinking back into her chair. She must have seen the look on my face; she gave me a kind smile. "What happened to that nice boy from Brown?"

"We broke up," I answered her, ignoring Addison completely, she rolled her eyes in the background, downing half of the cocktail Sam had just handed to her. That nice boy hadn't been her favourite. "And then he died."

"Oh," Her face crinkled. "I'm sorry to hear that—"

"What sort of contract is this anyway?"

It seemed that it was Sam's turn to take initiative. He plucked my contract out of Addison's grasp and gave it a once over.