LUCKY SHOT.

it will be much later, tonight when Lottie is lying awake on her cousin’s uncomfortable sofa, when lottie realizes why margot’s words feel like slipping into a hot bath. a comfort engulfing her like she’s been out in the cold her whole life. she’ll stare at the ceiling and piece it all together. the realization settling over her that margot is the first person to take her side in months.

margot studies her for a long moment — the slump of her shoulders, the bloodshot eyes, the way her hands fidget in her lap. there's something achingly human about it, and there's a part of margot that almost wants to reach out and steady her, to promise her that it's not the end of the world. she feels a tug at her chest, faint and brief — a flash of who she could have been if she'd been allowed to be softer, gentler. but it doesn't last. the bigger, stronger part of her — the part that's always hungry — surges forward instead, drinking in lottie's the helplessness like it's fuel. she wants to own it and bend it into something that belongs to her entirely. and so, for now, the softness in her is for show, and she lets it manifest outward for lottie's sake while the rest of her waits, poised and patient, savoring the leverage she's already storing away for later. "alright, well, i'll spare you the humiliation ritual — i did hear about it," she starts, but doesn't let the words linger too long before giving lottie some much needed reassurance. "and for the record, you're not the only person in the world to make that mistake." she straightens a little, pretending to look at something in her pocket just to give lottie space to breathe and to figure out what she means by that.

thalia doesn't look up right away. she rarely ever does when she's working, keeping her focus on the patient and the surgical field unless she needs to check a residents work or make a point with eye contact. it's even rarer she needs to look up when she's working with taren, who she trusts implicitly. if she ever found herself in need of open heart surgery, taren would certainly be on the top of her list of people to call. she figures if she can trust her with maya, she can trust her with her literal heart and she does — implicitly so.

taren feels her chest tighten for a second at the mention of the recipient, a little stab of guilt that she had joked about the heart before knowing who it was going to — because shit, if anyone's going to appreciate a heart like this, it's the fucking angel on earth thalia just described. she feels like a real asshole for letting the sarcasm slip even though it's easier to be light-hearted in situations like this — when the death of one patient saves the life of another — and she doesn't know how thalia deals with it all the time. transplant work always rides this impossible line — one person dies, another lives, and the weight of both somehow lands squarely on you. the thrill of saving someone and the awe of that perfectly beating heart is always tangled up with a knot in her stomach for the one who didn't make it. it's not something she thinks she'll ever get used to, even after a decade.

if her father taught her anything, it was how to tiptoe around personalities. ever since he forgave her for her transgression of studying something he deemed unworthy, indira has managed to keep things civil, and the practice with her father was coming in handy right now. the heat of the spotlight cast by a scrutinizing gaze felt familiar, so she sat in it. kept the peace as margot seemed to weigh her words out. but then she was — was she? — inviting indira out to drinks? the nurse’s uncertainty about margot hasn’t gone away. if anything the silence doubled it. but she didn’t feel like she could outright say no. indira let the silence sit a little longer until she remembered what day it was. saved by family dinner. “oh well, as tempting as it sounds — while you’ll be having a nice glass of wine at a hotel bar, i’ll be matching my brother shot for shot while my father waxes poetic about work over dinner.”

margot tilts her head, letting indira's words wash over her. there's a faint tightening at the hinge of her jaw when she's all but outright rejected, but it goes as quickly as it comes. she's used to people wanting her attention, wanting the warmth she doles out so easily, but she's never been one to force it. she doesn't prey on those who aren't interested — doesn't push or linger with that familiar bite she reserves for willing participants. still, there's a thrill in knowing the power of an honest to god 'no' that keeps her from being completely deterred. "uh huh. how nice," she says, letting the silence stretch just a hair too long. "rain check, then. next time you help me make someone beautiful, you've got a glass of wine on me if you want it."

hollis feels her jaw tighten. she can’t even be surprised by how thick margot’s laying it on — it’s classic. it’s exactly how she used to do it. a kind word, a sweet little pet name, a well-placed bit of praise to stroke the right bruise. and hollis, god help her, had walked straight into every one of margot’s traps back then, convinced the attention meant something special. she focuses on the rim of her coffee cup now, tracing the cardboard seam with her thumb, trying to steady the irritation crawling up her throat. but then margot says darlin', and that does it — the lazy, practiced slide of it hits the same nerve it always did. it used to tug at her chest in a way that hollis once mistook for love; now it just feels like a hook she’s spent years trying to dig out. an old wound split open again.

margot tilts her head, letting hollis downplay her concern and listening to every carefully measured word, catching every flash of irritation in those tired blue eyes. it's aggravating the way hollis keeps herself just out of reach, taut and careful like she's built a wall around herself — but margot has never met a wall she couldn't demolish. hollis may be acting like a brat, but she hasn't left the table either. she can pretend all she wants but margot knows that somewhere beneath that mask of indifference, there's the familiar thrill of having her attention that hollis will never fully be able to escape. "you were never my project, hollis." the words slip out smoothly, but there's a quiet force behind them that's aimed at pulling the edges of hollis's defiance. margot leans back just slightly, letting her hands curl around the coffee cup as though she's entirely unconcerned with the tension rolling between them before she shakes her head.

margot keeps her gaze on him as they walk, letting the rhythm of their steps and the slight echo of their shoes fill the space as they move into the scrub room. she hears the pride in his voice, the way he frames his confidence around a name that gets him places he surely didn't earn but has learned to navigate anyway. she nods once, almost imperceptibly. "that's what i like to hear. can't be afraid to walk through the doors your name opens for you, agosto. a lot of people don't get that privilege." her gaze stays on him for the tiniest beat longer and she can't help but continue to judge him, even if there's the tiniest hint of approval behind it — margot isn't one to hand out access to her OR lightly, but she's willing to see how far he's willing to step up, how much he can absorb, how much pressure he can tolerate without breaking under it. so far, he's asking all the right things. "the compromised vessels are a concern, but tissue viability tells us what we can save and what needs coverage. once i've mapped that out, we restore circulation — arteries and veins first, tendons next, nerves last. and then i watch," she says simply. "once everything's connected, i monitor flow constantly and adjust as needed — sometimes with a small tweak, sometimes by rerouting a vein. just gotta keep monitoring until you're sure it all works."

tess hums, nodding. "we spent a little time there years ago. cole's amputation and prosthetic team was based out of emory's orthopedic clinic. it was nice." though she hadn't bothered to see much outside of the clinic. she hadn't been there for socializing or her career, instead to support her at the time boyfriend. her smile doesn't waver, that same polite and composed expression she's worn through a thousand donor dinners and board meetings, but a little flicker of amusement is in her eyes that doesn't quite reach the surface. of course, she has heard all about margot's reputation — professionally and otherwise, but she doesn't mention it. "what made you choose tacoma? couldn't have been the weather." she takes her time when margot asks about the gossip, doesn't take the bait when she brings up her marriage though the comment hangs in the air between them. tess meets her gaze with a practiced warmth, "privacy is unfortunately a luxury around here. i've stopped worrying about it. they all move onto the next scandal before long." she takes a sip of her drink, head tilting slightly. "you're right though. being happily married does help. cole's steady. makes it less entertaining for everyone else." of course, she's still living in her condo across the city and she is sure margot, queen of the weasles, knows that but she isn't going to go there.

"no kidding. you've known dr. westbrook for a good while then, hm?" margot says it like it's nothing — polite conversation is all — but she knows exactly what she's doing, tugging at threads just to see what she can find. "she was coming up in my earlier days at emory. great student, really sharp — it was always such a shame ortho snatched her up so quickly, but i guess that worked out for y'all here in the long run." she tips her glass slightly toward tess, a small smile curling at her mouth. hollis's name is still bitter on her tongue, but she’s long since learned how to mask the taste. "duly noted." margot lets tess's words hang for a moment, taking in the easy way she talks about privacy, about cole, about how her life somehow stays out of the hospital gossip. of course, she's already heard whispers of divorce when it comes to the harrisons, but she doesn't let it show — there's no need to go there tonight. "well, i'll admit the weather wasn't a selling point, but i needed a change of pace, i guess. and greg taught me everything i knew about general when i was a resident down at alabama, figured it was about time i returned the favor and helped him out." she says it smoothly, and it's technically true, but even as the words leave her mouth she knows how thin it sounds. margot's not stupid — sure, she's an alright teacher and maybe that'd be useful here, but greg's looking for some more wow factor for the hospital, and it's her extremely high profile clientele that got her this gig and she knows it. sleeping with the boss will just help her keep it in the long run — not that she'd ever admit that to miss supposedly happily married. she'd probably choke on her wine and run for the hills at the very thought of it.

malcolm finally cracked a smile at her. for some reason, taren was one of the few people that could break his stoic-ness when he was working. she just had this certain aura about her that always made him let his guard down.

"uh-uh," taren cuts in immediately, shaking her head, "wasn't an intern." she doesn't elaborate on that — and definitely doesn't mention that the culprit also happened to be fucking taren's ex-boyfriend when she left her underwear in the x-ray room, because that piece of gossip's worth way more than what malcolm's prepared to pay for it. taren watches him flip the switch like the machine wasn't just waging psychological warfare on her for the past five minutes, and lets out a short laugh when the beeping dies. "you are a saint," she says, dry but sincere enough that it almost passes for gratitude until he hits her with that look and that tone, and she rolls her eyes so hard it's a small miracle they don't get stuck that way. "wow, detective price, what led you to that conclusion? i mean, it's not like it's obvious that i'm being driven to fucking madness by my insane new boss who's breathing down my neck twenty-four seven, is it? you're so astute."

Spencer raises his eyebrows at Margot, a little surprised she isn't scolding him like Tess would for his harsh, often cruel way of thinking of patients. At least one new attending wouldn't mind it, considering he's pretty sure Coop would've definitely reprimanded him for his attitude. "Got it," he notes, taking a few quick notes on the iPad. While Spencer had worked with Russ, he hadn't seen much in the way of the inside of an OR with him. Mostly, it was just about keeping his patients from complaining and being vigilant for infections. Ade had been more involved in his plastics time so far. "He was busy, but I'm not sure he was bringing in the kind of cases Sullivan wants to see, if you know what I mean," Spencer offers. "Or at least, that I saw," he shrugs. "Maybe why he's not around anymore." A little pat to Margot's ego wouldn't hurt-- besides, he wasn't going to be asking Russ for a letter of recommendation anytime soon, what did it hurt? "Thanks for letting me scrub in," he adds.

margot doesn't bother hiding her smile this time — it comes slow and deliberate, a true testament to how easily a little flattery works on her. "you're not wrong," she says, quiet but cutting. "russ had a habit of picking safe cases — and he was great, but safe doesn't get you very far in plastics." she flips through her notes one more time before tilting her head, gesturing for him to follow as she starts down the hall. "dr. sullivan's made it pretty clear he wants headlines. before-and-afters that make people talk and surgeons who can deliver them." it's not exactly a challenge, but it's close enough. she's basically given him the playbook — get good enough to take risks like she does, and he'll rise fast. play it too safe and he'll disappear. she lets the silence stretch a beat too long before glancing back at him. "and don't thank me yet. you haven't seen what i expect once we're in there."

interesting, indira thought as she took in the look on margot’s face, making her own mental notes the way she was positive that margot was doing to her. there was an energy in the room that indira couldn’t put her finger on. like she was on a tight rope with margot on the other end, ready to cut the line if she said the wrong thing. and she had a feeling that her question had margot looking for her scissors. this wasn’t the first time indira’s had to dance around the ego of a surgeon, but there was something underlying in margot’s words that made her think that this wasn’t just an ego thing.

margot can feel indira watching her, assessing as the words leave her and it's both irritating and fascinating. the nurse's gaze lingers just slightly too long, and margot almost wonders if she's being studied the same way she always studies her own patients — so she does it right back. her eyes drift to indira's face, tracing the lines almost instinctually. margot has always appreciated a conventionally attractive woman — the female form is a thing of beauty and indira is perfectly symmetrical, with sharp features and smooth skin. she'll likely only need a few units of botox in the next few years, maybe a subtle upper bleph and a bit of tightening along the jawline in the next twenty. stupid, lucky bitch. for a moment, margot lets herself wonder what she'd look like under anesthesia.

lottie had put nearly three thousand miles between her present and her past. driven the whole way by herself, stopping as little as she could. she'd driven across the whole fucking country in less than three days and even still she couldn't outrun the damage a quick google search could do to her second chance.

a hum of understanding leaves margot as she nods once, very much familiar with the kind of rough day lottie's having. she'd been there before, and it isn't easy walking around a hospital with a proverbial branding practically etched into your forehead — but where margot had simply been called a slut for a few years before she moved on to a different state after residency, lottie's indiscretions had made national news. there's nowhere she can go that her past won't follow her, which makes it a hell of a lot easier for margot to position herself as an ally. "oh, i don't think so," she shakes her head slightly, chin tilting as she zeros in on the intern. "those nurses can be nasty and some reactions are warranted. you don't have to tell me the details, but in all honestly it sounded to me like she had it coming."

now that there's more physical space between them and the conference room, he can feel his anger begin to boil -- as if being outside of the hospital means he can let himself react. cooperman, with all his do-gooder bullshit, often leaves cyrus with his jaw clenched and nails digging into his palms; he's gone along with the bullshit classes they have to take, knowing better than to blow up completely and be the first to get fired. "you know he's not gonna back off," cyrus points out with an eyeroll, taking the cigarette without question. "he's not some overeager intern." he adds, taking the lighter from her. shaking his head, he lights the cigarette between his teeth and takes a long drag. the burn in his lungs is a relief, smoke pushing past his lips before he answers her. "you really believe that?" cyrus can't help but ask, having a feeling taren is just spouting bullshit in hopes of making herself feel better. "'cause i'm pretty sure he'd fire us all if he could. clean house and shit." it's a bleak way to look at things, but he knows it's plausible -- a logistical nightmare of hiring new people and a mountain of paperwork, but if he wanted to send a message about restructuring, that would do it.

taren drags on the cigarette he handed her, feeling the smoke tear down her throat and fill the hollow spots that cooped-up conference rooms and preachy lectures always leave behind. she exhales slow, letting the haze curl around them like a shield from the bullshit waiting inside. “no way. he like, can’t,” she tries to get the lie out easily, but even taren’s not convinced and her voice is rough at the edges, half-laughing bitterly. “he’d get way too much shit for it.” she pinches the cigarette between her fingers and flicks it off the garbage can, sparks raining while her mind does a million mental gymnastics and lands on the inevitable: they’re so fucked. “okay, well, whatever — maybe not. maybe we’re all walking targets and the second someone screws up they’re gone and this is him sending like, a warning shot or something. whatever. if that’s the case then i’m pretty sure getting the new guy to quit isn’t gonna help our case very much.”

@mindsbeat / thalia bennett & taren beck ❛ your heart is beating so fast right now. ❜

thalia’s voice cuts through the room with a familiar sharpness and taren’s quick to adjust the suction, letting her hands fall into a familiar rhythm almost before she’s fully aware of it. there’s a little spark that always hits her when she’s in thalia’s OR — a rare focus she only gets with her. she’s known the woman for years, but there’s something about the way she trusts taren’s hands implicitly that never fails to make everything else fade. she’d been broke and tired and scrambling for whatever extra cash she could pick up as a resident when thalia had thrown her a lifeline and made her feel… less like she was constantly failing at life. now over a decade later, it’s kind of wild how at ease she feels here, how much she actually wants to impress the woman even now when she knows she doesn’t really have to.

sienna isn't surprised at all at taren's reaction. she knows plastic surgery isn't exactly high on a lot of people's list of respected specialties, especially when it leans more cosmetic like now. she's sure cardio is a hell of a lot more intense when you compare the two, but so far she's only been in on a few cardio cases. she shrugs, learning not to take things too personally — especially when it comes to taren. she waits, letting out a breath and giving her a 'i told you' raise of her eyebrows when taren realizes she'd actually done something. something she had been wholly unqualified for and they both know it. but she hadn't been complaining, obviously — she'd wanted to learn, wants to soak up experience and knowledge when she can. "you see when it was intense now," she comments, shaking her head and letting out a breath. "no — i mean... i don't think so and i don't think she would have let it go without telling me." the memory is equal parts terrifying and thrilling. "i felt like i was going to. it was kind of..." she pauses, unsure if admitting this is just further proving the voice in her head that she shouldn't be here right. "it was fine. it went fine. i just felt kind of in over my head."

a sound that’s somewhere between a hum and a sigh escapes taren, the kind that slips out when she’s not sure whether to be impressed or pissed off. she’s quiet for a second, her eyes dragging over sienna’s face like she’s trying to figure out if the kid even realizes how wild that actually is. there’s something in the way she says in over my head that hits a nerve. taren’s been there — hell, she practically lives there — but it’s different when you’re two months in and someone’s already tossing you to the sharks. “yeah,” she says finally, voice low, almost thoughtful. “i can see that.” she doesn’t add no shit even though it’s on the tip of her tongue. instead, taren glances down, picks at the seam of her scrub pocket. she’s thinking about the things hollis said at the gala — the look in her eyes when she mentioned vaughn’s name like it haunted her.