Asystole ✷ Mark Sloan

𝟬𝟮𝟳 the inevitability of falling apart

𝙓𝙓𝙑𝙄𝙄.
THE INEVITABILITY OF FALLING APART

──────

CRISTINA DIDN'T LIKE my spontaneous decision to be an early bird; in fact, she audibly protested against it.

When I breezed in, the morning of Charlie's arrival in Seattle and the morning-after the mixer at Joe's bar, she was still in the same sorry state I'd left her. 

She'd been unceremoniously dumped in the centre of my makeshift family area with a few fresh linens bundled over the top of her and curtains thrown over the windows. There'd been a little bit of thought on my behalf the night before, I'd already prepared a glass of water and Mark had given me some painkillers to leave out for her. 

But from my position, stalled in the doorway of my bedroom, I'd noted that both the medicine and the glass were untouched and that all I could really make out of the successful surgeon was a plume of unruly hair.

At five am, when I'd slightly jostled her on my way out for my morning jog, Cristina had croaked out the firmest deadpan I'd ever witnessed.

"You wake me, you die."

I decided to let her sleep in a bit.

Instead, I jogged around the block, stopping only to pick up some post on my way back into the apartment building. 

I checked my letters as I stepped into the elevator, ripping the top off of what appeared to be my first utility bill. I hummed to myself lightly, scuffing the sole of my trainer as I waited for my floor. My earbud swung against my collar bone as the muffled sound of my music blared, my lips pursed and my eyes ghosted over the words of the bill. 

My first sting in Seattle, surely wasn't that a milestone of some sort?

"I didn't realise that you were a budding athlete."

When the elevator door opened, I was faced with a meek-looking Eli, who was positioned outside of my apartment door, clearly waiting with purpose. I looked towards him with a skewed smile, rolling my eyes as I adjusted my sports bra.

He looked as though he hadn't slept a lot and, instantly, I wondered how his date had gone the night before. He'd really been interested in the coffee cart girl and I'd stood outside the nurse's locker room and judged him on whether he was wearing enough cologne ("There's an art to it, you want to say fuck me not fuck off"). It'd been quite interesting to see how genuinely nervous he'd been-- I'd grown accustomed to his asshole ego and his lack of humility. 

He'd played with his sleeves, taken a deep breath and admitted that he didn't go on many dates ("I would've never been able to tell, you look like a teen about to ask out his crush to prom") and my sarcasm on the subject had not been appreciated.

In all honesty, he'd been cute, all bashful and nervous.

I'd remarked about that as he went to leave but he's spun around in the doorway and threatened me: "if you ever say anything like that ever again, I'm telling your sugar daddy, Charlie, that you let Bailey tear the shit out of you." And that had been that.

But now, I tried to gage Eli's facial expression as I approached him. 

He was here awfully early and we usually met up for a pre-shift coffee on a Friday morning at the coffee cart in the hospital reception. I frowned when I saw his nonchalant and dead set expression.

"How did it go, Casanova?"

It was then that I noticed he clutched two coffee cups in his hands; they were not the familiar Seattle Grace ones, rather overpriced Starbucks branded cups that made my stomach drop. I looked from him to the coffee and back again.