A/N: yeah yeah, I know what you're thinking. Where the HELL have I been? It's called high school, people, and it happens to be my senior year. I'm only 15. I'm applying to Harvard, Dartmouth, Yale, NYU, etc. Forgive me if I don't have time to update everyday. So. That's about it for my ranting. Moving on…

Five o'clock in the morning. In the freaking morning. Five o'clock in the freaking wet, dreary morning and I was on my way to work. I love going to work because to me, it means I am just a step closer to my dreams of being a surgeon. But being a step closer to my dreams also means I have to spend another day in hell with Christina Yang.

"George," I said, nudging a lump under his covers with my foot. "George, wake up." He rolled over, moaned quietly, and ignored me.

We are so going to be late.

"George!" I shook his shoulder roughly. Nothing at all. Not even stirring. Enough is enough. I set down my bag, my keys, and anything in my pockets that could be potentially painful and crawled up onto the bed. I stood on shaky legs. I couldn't believe I was about to do this.

"Get up!" I bounced around, trying to shake him awake, hoping my substantial weight would wake him from his semi-comatose state. I figured, you know, it was working, until he used one of his big, surgeon hands to grab my ankle and pull me down to my imminent doom.

Or, you know, the mattress.

"Oof. George!" I half-whined. I turned halfway over to look at him. It was a little awkward, considering, I was lying perpendicular across his lap.

"Go back to sleep," he said thickly, his voice muffled by sleep.

As much as I wanted to say here, lying on top of the guy I had a serious crush on, I had a career to deal with. I tried to push myself up off of him, but instead of staying semi-comatose, George wrapped his strong arms around my waist and held me there.

This I could work with.

"Seriously, Lexie," he said. "Go to sleep. You deserve a day off." He rolled onto his side, taking me with him. Now I was lying on my side, facing him, and his eyes were heavy and as far as I could tell, just as sweet and trusting as the last time we were this close. Which, by the way, was about two weeks ago, when he had kissed me. It was one of the greatest moments of my life, however brief.

His eyelids started to slip closed, and I could feel my tired body responding delightedly about being this close to him and being in bed again. I hadn't realized it before, but I was really tired. I blinked heavily, checking to see if George's eyes were still open. They weren't.



But as I closed my eyes, I felt him pull his arm out from under his blankets and throw one over me. I opened my eyes, surprised. His eyes were still closed, but he had a peaceful smile on his face. I smiled, and relaxed. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, he put his hand under the covers, and found my hand with his. I gave it a reassuring squeeze.

This is so worth being late for.

At least that's what I thought, until George was the one shaking me awake an hour later. Our hands were no longer connected, and my fingers itched for the contact. Now that I'd had it, I wanted it. All the time.

"We are so late," he said, nudging me. Luckily, I was a light sleeper, and when I heard the word "late," I was up and slipping my feet into shoes that were sitting by the front door. When I turned around, ready to go, George was just barely putting on his pants.

"George!" I exclaimed, exasperated. "Let's go!" George looked up at me and smiled. Momentarily, our eyes locked, and I felt a small lurch in the pit of my stomach. He reached back, tossed me the keys I had almost forgotten on the counter, and walked by me. I followed.

When we got to the hospital, Christina descended upon us immediately, looking so livid, she might as well have been breathing fire.

"Where have you been, Grey?" Christina snarled. I visibly flinched. Sleeping an extra hour and holding hands with George was not worth getting yelled at by my resident. "You know what, I don't want to hear it. You're spending today in the pit."

That was something I expected. As I turned to walk away, I saw George talking to Meredith. I felt a sudden pang of jealousy. I wanted to be able to talk to Meredith without her getting Christina to bite my head off, to tell her it wasn't my fault my dad abandoned her. That I was sorry she hated me.

But I couldn't. When she looked my way, she immediately averted her eyes. Today was going to be one of those days that I was going to hate. No matter how good the day had started, today was definitely going to suck.

"Go on, Three," Christina said condescendingly from behind me. "The pit awaits."

My eyes filled with shameful tears as I hurried past George. I hated that he was always around when Christina called me names, or yelled at me, or when Meredith ignored me. It was times like these I hated what I had chosen for my career.

"Lexie," George was following me. Great. Just what I needed.

I stopped, but I didn't turn around. I could feel him standing close behind me, nervous. I could feel his anxiousness coming off him in waves.



"I don't get it," I said, trying desperately to keep my voice from shaking. "Why do they all hate me so much? Everyone at this hospital hates me." Not my voice was definitely trembling.

"I don't hate you."

It was a simple statement. He said it with conviction, like there was no room for argument, or doubt. I finally turned to face him, a single tear slipping down my cheek. He opened his arms invitingly. I glared at him pathetically and wrapped my arms around myself. When I didn't move toward him, he came to me and wrapped his arms tightly around me, as if by doing so he could protect me against all of my stupid insecurities. I sniffled quietly and laid my head on his shoulder.

"It gets better," he said quietly to me. "I promise."

And for now, I decided to believe him.