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chapter thirty-four ✧ welcome to your final year of residency ( season eight, episodes one & two )
❝ if surgery doesn't work out, i plan on becoming a crazy cat lady. ❞
"𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐍—"
"No."
"But—"
"No!"
Oliver let out a breath and looked over at the woman who was shaking the flour out of her dark brown hair with a small frown. It was currently seven-thirty in the morning the day before their first day of their fifth year of residency and they were spending it the way only they would be.
London was baking, and Oliver was watching her.
And arguing about the safety of London's beat-up car.
"The air conditioning barely functions and the hand crank broke on the window," he argued, making her bite the inside of her cheek. "That has to be a safety issue according to someone official! Not to mention that it rattles when you hit a pothole badly."
She tilted her head. "Are you done?"
"No. It doesn't have any cupholders, and the left backseat door doesn't even open anymore," he continued, and she sighed, turning back to her brownie batter. "And I'm fairly certain that the engine is going to die on your way to work one day."
"I am not buying a new car, Oliver!" she said for the third time that morning, setting the bowl of batter down on the kitchen island. "Getting rid of Winston would be like getting rid of a family member. He stays!"
Oliver furrowed his brows. "You named your car Winston?" he deadpanned.
"I was studying World War II when I bought him, and Winston Churchill was mentioned a lot!" she defended, shrugging her shoulders. "Ollie, I bought that car when I was sixteen years old. I still remember my mom taking me to the used car lot and falling in love with Winston. Besides, where else am I going to find a Cadillac from the '70s?"
He sighed. "I just think—"
"If there comes a time when I get a new car, you'll be the first to know, but in the meantime... Winston is here to stay," she said with a smile, patting his hands. "Now, try the batter and tell me if it's missing anything."
"But I can't bake."
She nodded. "Yes, but you like to eat," she countered, pushing the bowl towards him. "Which means you know what good things taste like." She looked up when she heard movement from the hallway. "Oh, he's emerging from his cave. How'd you sleep?"
Alex groaned, rubbing at his tousled hair from the previous night's sleep. "I've never been able to figure out what the grunt means," Oliver said, turning to look at him as London slid over a mug of coffee to him.
