#mindsbeat

stepping outside for some much needed air, the scent of weed reaches hollis and she latches on like a fucking bloodhound. she needs to find her zen or whatever but that's easier said than done right now. she hasn't felt anxiety like this in years and she mentally kicks herself, tells herself she needs to get her shit together and she figures what will help with that is a hit off whoever's joint that is. she shouldn't be surprised at all when the scent brings her right to taren and honestly, she's too locked in on the task at hand to think about how this is a terrible idea and she should turn around and do literally anything else. instead, she crashes taren's one woman smoke sesh. "you need to share that with me before i set this entire venue on fire," she deadpans, hand held out. "please."

fifteen years later, hollis is still trying to figure out how she feels about taren beck. they had been best friends once upon a time — sometimes hollis thinks she might have had a crush on her, but then maybe that was just the lines between her figuring out her sexuality and her first real, genuine friendship with another woman blurring, she isn't sure — and then they had been nothing to each other. now it seems like taren hates her and while hollis can't blame her, she can't deny that it stings. she isn't sure what she prefers — the years of silence or the one year of outright dislike. both sting for different reasons, hit her in different places. of course, she isn't going to let any of that show. instead she rolls her eyes, shooting taren an incredulous look. "you're always so pleasant, taren." she hums it in a greeting, offering a tight, sarcastic smile. "i didn't know the duck was so exclusive i needed an invite."

"what's that smell?" her nose scrunches in offence, spine straightening as her eyes dart around the room. "it's like... b.o. and doritos. do we need to have the personal hygiene talk with the interns?" is she having a ptsd flashback to college frat parties? the smell is nauseating and she looks back to taren. she does not get paid enough to teach twenty-something year olds the basics of soap and water. she leans across the hub in search of a post-it note, entering taren's space and abruptly pulling back, eyes narrowed.

tess is aware that taren's divorce and her separation and worlds apart. not even remotely similar other than the fact that they involve a husband and wife parting ways. she's also aware that taren's husband is a loser — one she's spent far too many nights watching shitty dj sets of in equally shitty bars drinking just as shitty drinks. he's no real loss, so why is taren looking like she's going through some kind of crisis right now? "is that walking biohazard you?" her eyes narrow, a brow arching.

in a lot of ways, taren beck feels like thalia’s oldest daughter. she sees a lot of maya in taren — or maybe it’s a lot of taren in maya. the spark is the same: that relentless passion that can burn too hot, the way they throw themselves into things with such force that it’s hard to tell if it’ll lead to brilliance or chaos. thalia’s spent most of her life walking that line — knowing when to let them figure it out on their own, and when to step in and steady their hands. the or, though, is the one place she never has to. here, taren is sharp as a scalpel, precise as they come, and thalia never has to question her instincts.

"good," thalia says, her voice muffled slightly behind the mask as she leans over the open chest, eyes flicking to the monitor and then back to the surgical field. "suction." she doesn’t have to ask twice — the movement is seamless. "that’s exactly how we need it," she adds, her tone dry, a wry little laugh bubbling beneath it, "considering the other one’s doing a shit job of it." her eyes meet taren’s over the drape, a brief flash of camaraderie cutting through the sterile air. "we’ve got two minutes before cross-clamp," thalia continues, settling into that steady rhythm that always seems to calm the room. "let’s make it clean, smooth, and maybe — just maybe — we’ll get out of here before sunrise... unless you have to stay and give the new cardio head a report." she's kidding but it wouldn't really surprise her.

while the gala had marked the official start of the hospital’s restructuring the board had organized something quieter for the newly appointed department heads and visiting surgeons. tonight's gathering at sable and vine, an upscale wine bar just a few blocks from the hospital, felt far more intimate. no podiums, no staged applause. just low lighting, sleek marble tables, and the hum of quiet conversation. tess is perched at the bar, glass of chalis in hand and letting the crisp drink cut through the heaviness of the past week, just counting down the hours until it's appropriate for her to leave. she gets why the board wants to do things like this — but she'd been in surgery all day and has a full day tomorrow too. she'd like to at least get a few hours of sleep before that.

she'd been wholly neutral on margot vaughn when they first crossed paths earlier this month, but her opinion had since tilted—ever so slightly—toward the negative. not that she’d admit out loud that it had anything to do with catching margot laughing just a little too brightly at something cole had said, her eyelashes batting and a hand lingering on his forearm. tess brushes the thought aside as soon as it surfaces, reminding herself that she isn't the jealous type. she offers a pleasant smile, humming. "sharp — less oak, more stone fruit and citrus. clean. i figured it was a safe choice for a work function. it's hard to go wrong with french white." she takes another sip before offering an edges smile, tipping her glass towards margot. "what about you? are you playing it safe or are you braver than me?"

after her meeting with greg, ade's head is spinning. everything happened so fast she'd barely registered what was going on until she walked out the door. she had expected to be packing her bags, not to simply be told to keep her private life private. naturally, she spent twenty minutes crying in the family bathroom -- before fixing her make up, squaring her shoulders, and putting on her game face. though she is clearly on edge, adrienne had always been good at putting up a good front. even if her mind is still racing, and it feels like she's being stared at.

surgery is exactly what she needs; it's the perfect way to get her mind off current events and focus on what's in front of her: the breast reconstruction she's assisting margot on. she puts on a smile and a cheery disposition, though the dead give away for something be wrong is how uncharacteristically quiet she is at the or table. normally, ade doesn't shut up; she strikes up a conversation with whoever she's assisting or who is assisting her, chatting while she works. today? she's practically dead silent, ignoring the way her heart rate still hasn't settled. it's clear margot has picked up on it, even though they've only been working together for a couple of weeks. beginning to overthink yet another thing, ade outs herself to the woman she's working with. "i'm sorry i'm -- quieter than usual today." she admits, wrinkling her nose though it can't be seen with the surgical mask. "it's been uh -- a weird morning."

she doesn't know where she's supposed to be or what she's supposed to be doing. mingling is awkward, half these people are her boss or her bosses boss or even her bosses bosses boss and the other half are donors with pockets so deep that they make her parents home look shabby. so she's been sipping one singular glass of champagne and trying not to make a complete idiot out of herself by choking on her tongue or saying something moronic. it's a relief when she sees maddie, feeling herself literally uncoil from anxiety. "maddie!" she makes her way to her, a sigh of relief leaving her lips. "you look so pretty. your dress is gorgeous."