Chapter 2, Monday

"That all looks pretty good," said Meredith, looking up from the chart and smiling at the teenage girl in the bed in front of her. "And your face is healing really well. Obviously, it's Dr Sloan's call, but we should be able to do the procedure this morning as scheduled."

Amanda Marshall was a seventeen-year-old cheerleader, brought in with severe facial burns after a drunken accident with a firework after a football game. The previous week, Mark had performed skin grafts on her cheeks and forehead, which had taken without complications. This week she was scheduled for work on the more difficult burns around her eyes.

"Hey Amanda,' said Mark, as he walked into the room. "Dr Grey taking good care of you?" He smiled at Meredith, who responded distractedly, trying not to think about yesterday's conversation with Derek.

He took Amanda's chin in his hand and tilted her face to get a better look. "That's looking great," he said. "You're fine to go on to the next graft. Dr Grey'll prep you and then we'll go right ahead." He considered. "You know, when I get done with you, you're going to be happy that rocket hit you in the face?"

"Dr Sloan!" interjected Meredith, taken aback.

He carried on without paying any attention, "You're going to be even hotter than you were before the accident," he flirted with her.

Apparently, his unique style of bedside manner worked, because Amanda smiled at him, seemingly reassured.

"Dr Grey, can I have a word outside?" he said.

"Wasn't that a little inappropriate?" she asked, as they left the room.

"Why?" he asked. "She's seventeen; two weeks ago she was a bleached blonde airhead who's biggest concern in life was whether the quarterback would do her. Now she's disfigured, scared and stuck in the hospital. What should I have said?"

She was about to respond, when Derek walked past, giving instructions to a nurse. She stiffened and made a little, disgruntled noise.

Mark looked at her and chuckled. "Something wrong, Grey?"

"I'm fine," she snapped. "I don't want to talk about it."

He raised his eyebrows, but didn't pursue it. "So, this surgery is going to be much tougher than the last one. We're going to need a full thickness graft from her upper thigh, which means we'll need to surgically close it. Ideally, to minimize the risk of bleeding and infection – which is very high with these procedures – the closure would get done while I work on the graft site." He paused. "You're perfectly capable of doing the closure. I just need to know whether you're up for it."

"Seriously?" she said. "You want me to close the donor site?"

"You're a surgeon, aren't you?" he said.

"Well, yes . . ." she agreed, hesitantly.

"You sure about that?" he teased her.

"Of course I'm a surgeon," she said.

He sighed. "Is that yes or no?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "I can do the closure. Thank you for the opportunity."

"Okay then," he said. "Prep the patient. I'm going to get coffee. You want some?"

"Excuse me?'

"You want some coffee?" he said.

"You're offering to get me coffee?"

"Why do conversations with you always turn into confusion?" he asked.

"You have never in your life fetched coffee for an int . . . a resident," she said.

"Yeah, well, most residents aren't you," he said gently. "You know you're doing me a really huge favor?"

Right! she thought. That would be the one where I broke your confidence, only to discover that the 'best friend' you're so concerned for is devoid of human feelings. No coffee for me, then.

"It's only coffee, Grey."

"It is," she said, absently, still lost in thought. "It's only coffee. " She looked at him. "Since you raised the subject, are you okay?"

"Yeah, " he said, brushing off her question. "And I get to be the doctor today, which is a hell of a lot better than being the patient." He smiled. "Shall we run that again? Prep the patient. I'm going for coffee. I'll bring you some back."

"That was amazing!" Meredith was psyched by the surgery and talked incessantly as they scrubbed out. "It was so quick and clean and intricate and--"

"You did a good job on the closure, Grey," Mark cut off her rambling. "I don't think I can express myself with as much breathless enthusiasm as you, but consider yourself complimented."

"That's just unkind," she laughed. "But thank you."

"You understand the post-op procedures?" he asked. "It's really important that you monitor her for any changes in temperature that could indicate infection. And, if anything around her eyes starts to look suspicious in any way, you page me, right?"

She nodded.

"And--" he started to speak, but then broke off and closed his eyes in evident pain. After a few seconds, he sighed and opened his eyes. He continued, pretending that nothing had happened "Try to keep her mother out of her room as long as possible. The woman's seriously deranged, and I'm not only saying that because of all the cheap work you can see she's had done."

Meredith hesitated, but then said softly, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I know," she said. "But, I'm . . . concerned."

"About my competence?" he asked, harshly.

"God, no!" she protested. "About you!"

"You think I'm off my game?" he asked defensively, but obviously wanting an answer.

"No," she said. "I believe we covered that. I was just thinking maybe you could use some rest . . . some time off? People do that, you know?"

"Because I worry that I might be," he confessed, disregarding her. "The Chief said it was fine to keep working as long as I felt I could. And, the Bitch was okay with it."

Meredith gave him a questioning look.

"My oncologist, Dr Lindstrom. The Bitch suits her better, though," he explained

"That sounds like a constructive doctor-patient relationship!"

He ignored her and went on, "And I'm fine, most of the time. But, sometimes it just catches up with me. The last half-hour in there I was getting really tired. What if my attention had wandered? I mean, who the fuck needs a plastic surgeon who might screw up any minute and leave someone scarred for life?" He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. "Sorry," he said, awkwardly. "Let's just forget I said that, shall we?"

"I should probably go help with post-op," said Meredith tactfully.

He sighed. "Listen. Thanks, Grey." he said. "Maybe you're right about rest. I'm going to crash in the on-call room for a half-hour. Would it totally piss you off if I asked you to stop by and make sure I wake up?"

"No" she said. "That's good. Get some rest. It's no problem." She remembered Derek and added "Don't feel bad about asking me to do stuff if you need to."

Cristina Yang raised her eyebrows as Meredith came out of the on-call room.

"Meredith!" she called, and added "Over here, now!" when Meredith looked up.

"Seriously?!" she hissed.

"What?" Meredith said, preoccupied.

"Seriously? You and McSteamy?!"

"Me and McSteamy, what?"

"Doing it, obviously!"

Meredith pulled a face. "Why would you . . .? How could you even . . .? Really, Cristina. That's just . . .!" she made a disgusted sound.

"Right, you're right. He doesn't bring you coffee, and you're not always in on his surgeries, and you didn't have dinner with him, and you weren't just in the on-call room with him? Oh, and Shepherd's NOT not talking to you. You're absolutely right. How could I?!"

"I'm not talking to Derek," Meredith muttered, "not the other way around. The other stuff is coincidental. He's a good surgeon and he has interesting cases. And I like coffee!"

"Interesting cases like . . . increasing rich women's cup sizes?"

"I've never worked on that stuff. I've only worked on reconstructive procedures. We did this amazing skin graft today. You know, she had burns right under her--"

"Do I look like I care about skin grafts? And I don't believe you. You're being . . . clandestine."

Meredith looked at her, her head on one side. "Cristina. I'm not lying to you. Nothing's going on. But, please can we stop talking about this?"

"If it makes you uncomfortable," Cristina smirked.

"It does," she said. "But not, NOT, for the reason you think. So, please, be my friend and just shut up."

Cristina began to protest but, seeing that Meredith was serious, gave in. "Okay – tell me all about the nice skin graft and the fascinating burns. I promise to give you forty-nine per cent attention." She paused. "I don't know what the problem is, though. I'd do him. That is, if it was only once . . . and I got to see him naked . . . and didn't have to talk to him." Meredith shot her a look. "Okay, okay; fascinating burns."