Ellis and Richard were laying side by side, on their backs, eyes to the ceiling when talk turned to the hospital as it usually did after sex.
"If I ran this place - if I were the chief - I'd run a tight ship," Richard asserted, a little nod of his head backing up the statement.
Ellis' response was a soft, questioning, nearly challenging, "yeah?"
"Yeah" he gave her a smirk, "no more of this sex in the on-call rooms."
"No?"
He gave her a grin, a twinkle in his eyes, "Nope. No exceptions."
"None? Not even for the chief?"
"Well, only if the chief were sleeping with the most beautiful and talented surgeon in the hospital. That would be alright."
"Richard, we'd never get anything done."
"What? If I as the chief wanted to have sex with the most talented and gorgeous surgeon, I'd have to masturbate, which really isn't having sex per se, so I wouldn't even be breaking my own rules... bit of a loophole, that."
She laughed with him, giving him a shove, and realized that she had no doubt that he would be the chief at Seattle Grace one day.
And if she ever fell overboard off his ship she wouldn't mind if he was the one who caught her.
But what the hell: she was Ellis Grey and he was Richard Weber. Of course he would catch her, and she wouldn't fall - she would frickin' jump.
"Richard? Leave Adel and I'll leave Thatcher."
The laughter stopped.
This was written quite a while ago and was originally part of a series of independent chapters that I've broken apart; I wasn't very pleased with the way it came together last run. Let me know if it worked better this time around. Ciao, Moksgmol