Save Me From Myself

by passionatewriter84

Unhappy with her appearance, Amy seeks Christian's help, but in an effort to get over her low self esteem, things take a turn for the worst. !NOTE: Part of the Amy Gellar Troy series!

Time Frame: Season Three, "Abby Mays" episode.

Disclaimer: This story is for entertainment purposes only. I don't any of the characters, except of course for my own original character, "Amy Gellar-Troy." Sole property of the Nip/Tuck characters and universe belong to its original creator, Ryan Murphy, and the FX Network.

Author's Note: This isn't a sequel to "Amy Gellar-Troy," just a regular short story in part with my series. These are sort of my own "deleted scenes." Scenes that would have been in the episode if Christian's daughter, Amy, had been an actual character on the show. My story shows what would have happened had Amy showed up at Christian's office before Abby, and if Quentin hadn't been courting Julia at the time. There are only three characters from the show that appear in this story: Christian, Sean, and Quentin. Unless you've read the other story, you probably won't understand this one. I recommend reading the other story first on but it isn't absolutely necessary, as long as you can envison the idea of Christian having a long-lost daughter. ;)

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She was digging herself an early grave, that's what she was doing. A scoff escaped Amy Gellar's lips as she slipped out of her blue VW bug, slung the strap of her purse over her right shoulder and marched up the sidewalk towards the front of the McNamara/Troy building. This was probably going to end up being a huge waste of her time, and she wasn't exactly in the deja vu mood, but she didn't know what else to do or who else she could turn to in order to fix the problem. The problem that she had brought on herself without even realizing it. The light afternoon breeze that was in the air blew a few strands of her auburn locks into her face as she walked. She was clad in a pair of pink sweat pants, and a matching pink T-Shirt with a somewhat tacky and R-rated comic strip on it, entitled, "How Stick Figures Became Extinct." He better not even try to give me any bullshit, if he knows what's good for him, she thought as she reached the door, and pulled it open to step inside the building.

After taking a brief glance around the nearly empty waiting room, she walked up to the front desk and without even waiting for the woman to look up, spoke, "I need to see Christian."

The short, trim, blue eyed and dirty blonde woman lifted her chin from the paperwork before her, looking up at Amy. "You mean Dr. Troy?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Yeah."

"He's in a consult at moment. Do you have an appointment?"

She sighed wearily. "No, I'm his daughter, and I really need to talk to him."

The receptionist gestured to the waiting area just over Amy's shoulder. "Please have a seat and he'll be with you shortly."

She exhaled sharply. "I don't want to have a seat, I want to talk to Christian! It's important!"

"What's going on out here?"

Amy turned her head at the sound of the familiar voice to see Christian's partner, Sean McNamara, heading in her direction with an inquisitive look upon his face. A sigh of relief escaped her. "Oh Sean, thank God." She stole a glance at the blonde woman before turning her attention to the man before her. "I need to see Christian, right now."

"I'm sorry, Amy, he's in a consult right now, but if you can wait a few minutes, I'll let him know you're here." Sean nodded his head, giving her a reassuring smile.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Ugh, I know he's in a consult, but I can't wait. I need to see him now."

Sean's brows furrowed in consideration, nodding to the receptionist that he would take care of it before gently pulling Amy aside and taking a few steps away from the front desk to a more private place to talk. "Is there an emergency? Are you in some kind of danger?"

Amy shook her head. "No, not really. There's just something important that I need to talk to him about that I can't talk to anyone else about, and if I don't talk to him about it now, he'll be pissed at me later." Just like he was before.

It took Sean a moment to realize where she was going with her words, but when he did, he nodded his head to show his approval. "A father to daughter talk, of course, I understand. I'll let him know you're here, just have a seat in the waiting room for the time being." Before she could say anymore, he turned and headed off in the direction of Christian's office.

"Wait," she spoke suddenly, causing him to turn back around to face her. She stepped up to him, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "Can't I just go and tell him myself?"

Sean sighed softly. "Well, with all due respect to our clients, and in keeping with the morality of this office, I think its only right that you wait until he's finished with the patient in his office instead of barging in on him unannounced. Unless of course its an emergency, which, as you told me just a minute ago, it isn't. I don't see why you can't wait five or ten another minutes."

She crossed her arms firmly over her chest, her eyes narrowing irritably on the man before her. A lightbulb suddenly turned on in her head. Her shoulders slumping once again in defeat, she turned on her heels and walked to one of the white leather chairs. "Fine, whatever. You don't have to tell him anything, I'll just wait."

"Give him another ten minutes. He should be done by then." He turned to head back down the hall, but paused mid-step and turned back to face her. "Don't worry, if I pass by his office and hear what sounds like inappropriate moaning, I'll barge in on him myself and pull him out by his coat tails."

A hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Thanks."

Sean nodded his head before continuing on his way. Amy perched herself on the edge of her seat, cocking her head to see where he would go. She cursed softly, not being able to see much with the wall--which seperated the waiting room from the back offices--in her way. Hopefully he had chosen to go back to his own office or somewhere else other than Christian's. She waited another minute before springing up to her feet and scurrying towards her father's office, shooting the receptionist a dirty look on her way by as the blonde looked up to watch her with an intent and suspicious gaze.

Having not been watching where she was going, she suddenly collided with someone who was heading in the opposite direction. "Oh, sorry!" She cried, raising her eyes up to the person before her but froze when she saw none other than McNamara/Troy's newest surgeon and resident scum bag, Dr. Quentin Costa. She rolled her eyes dramatically, pulling back instantly--almost as if she had been burned--when he set his hands on her shoulders to steady her. "Great, just great," she muttered sarcastically.

A smirk stretched across Quentin's dark features, "Amy, well, isn't this a pleasant surprise."

Her eyes narrowed in vexation. "Get out of my way, asshole. I'm not here to see you."

Quentin's bushy brows furrowed in consideration. "Whoa, hey," a soft chuckle escaped him. "Come on, there's no need for that. I just thought I'd say 'hello' and apologize, for my recent behavior. I was out of line, and I'm sorry."

She blinked back her surprise. He was apologizing? He was apologizing? After coming onto her and nearly scaring the shit out of her with how determined he'd been to get her to go out with him? She didn't know what it was, but ever since the day she had met the man, there was something awfully creepy about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on, and she didn't like it. "You're damn right you were out of line. Look, I'm not interested in you or anything else you have to offer so just leave me alone."

"My apologies, but what do you say we let by gones be by gones and start over?" He nodded his head in regard, "hello Amy, I'm Dr. Costa. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Her brows stitched together inquisitively. What did he want? He had to want something. Men like him usually did. She scoffed and shook her head in disbelief. "Sorry, but I don't think so." Pushing past him, she continued in the direction of Christian's office. "Like I said, stay away from me," she called over her shoulder to the man still standing there. She thought she might have heard him mumble something, but she couldn't be sure so she just shrugged it off as nothing. It's not like anything he said would change anything.

As she approached the door to Christian's office, she put her ear to it, listening in and praying she didn't hear what sounded anywhere near passionate moaning. She sighed softly and somewhat out of relief when all she heard was the sound of her father's and an unfamiliar woman's voice, discussing something about a brow lift and tummy tuck. Well, here goes nothing. Raising her hand, she rapped audibly on the door. The least she could do was knock, right?

"Come in," Christian called flatly, from the opposite side of the door.

Amy opened the door and marched inside, barely giving the petite, brown haired and full-figured hispanic woman sitting across from his desk, one look. Her eyes fell on her father's rather distant face, planting her hands firmly on her hips, "I need to talk to you."

Christian exchanged a look with the woman across from him before fixing his eyes on his daughter, his features growing firm. "I'm in the middle of a consult, sweetheart. I'm working, so whatever you have to tell me is going to have to wait."

She sighed irritably. "I know, I know, I know, but it can't wait. I need to talk to you, it's really important, and it has to be now."

He bit down on his bottom lip, and appeared as if he were trying to hold back his frustration or more than likely, keep himself from losing his temper. Averting his gaze back to the woman before him, he sighed wearily. "Would you excuse me for a minute?" The woman gently nodded her head just before he pushed himself back in his chair, and rose to his feet.

Amy grew anxious as Christian approached her. Maybe it was her imagination, but something about the vexated look in his eyes unnerved her. All she needed was his body language and his facial expressions to tell he was not pleased with her sudden appearance, and when he placed his hand against her backside to lead her out into the hallway, she frowned at the somewhat forceful way in which he pushed her along. Once the door was shut, she lifted her chin to meet eyes with him.

"I thought we discussed this already. When I'm in a consult or even at work for that matter, you either call first or wait your turn just like everyone else."

Her eyes narrowed in consideration, not liking tone of his voice or his terse choice of words. She sighed deeply. "I know, we did, but there's something really, really important that I need to talk to you about." Truth be told, she just wanted to get it over with so she wouldn't have to keep worrying herself to death about it, but if she came out and told him at that moment, he'd probably laugh in her face and send her on her way. She wasn't even sure he was going to take her seriously when she finally got everything out on the table, but she had to try.

Christian rolled his eyes. "What the hell is this about? Just tell me Goddamn it, so we can get it over with and I can get back to work."

Amy's shoulders slumped in defeat, stealing a glance over her shoulder and up the hallway, noticing that Quentin was still lingering, and was standing merely fifteen feet away from them, probably within hearing distance. Her gaze settled back on the man before her, lowering her voice. "I can't talk to you about it out here. I'd feel better if we could talk about it in your office. Please." She stared at him with pleading eyes.

For a long moment, all he did was stare at her, almost as if he were contemplating whether or not to give her a chance. She noticed the muscles in his lower jaw tighten, and his lips purse together just before he let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine, we'll talk in my office, but you're going to have to wait at least another three minutes until I finish with my consult. Understand?"

She crossed her arms firmly over her chest. "Fine, whatever." He gave her one last look before turning and slipping back inside his office, causing her to jump in fright as he slammed the door behind him. She didn't know what his problem was lately, or why he was acting like ten times more of an asshole than he usually was, but she would make a guess that it had something to do with the recent disappearance of his fiance, Kimber Henry. A weary sigh escaped her as she leaned her back against the wall just outside of his office and shut her eyes. After a minute, she got the eerie feeling that someone was watching her. Upon opening her eyes, she wasn't surprised to see it was Quentin. She shot a dirty look in his direction before turning away from him, and now, more than ever, she wished Christian would hurry up so he could get away from this scum bag. The longer she stayed out there, the more anxious she became.

Pushing herself away from the wall, she crossed her arms over her chest once again and started pacing back and forth. After another minute, she couldn't take anymore waiting and raised her hand up to knock on the door, but before her hand could make contact with the black door, it came open. She jumped out of the way as the hispanic woman stepped into the hallway, and walked past her towards the front of the building.

"See, all you had to do was wait another three minutes, now that wasn't so hard, was it sweetheart?"

She turned her head at the sound of Christian's voice, rolling her eyes at the sarcastic tone he used with those choice of words. Her stomach knotted up when she realized that this was the moment of truth. Swallowing the huge lump in her throat, she felt an even greater feeling of dread looming over her head. Should she really be doing this? She looked awkwardly down at the floor.

"Are you planning on coming in anytime soon or are you just going to stand there for the next two hours until I get off work? I really don't have all day, Amy, and I'm not going to waste time playing guessing games. Now come in."

Her heart constricted in her chest as he continued to speak so snidely to her. Why was she even here? She dropped her gaze to her frame, and scowled, wrapping her arms around her waist subconsciously, trying to hide the pooch in her belly. Clearing her throat uncomfortably, she said a silent prayer in her head before stepping inside the office. Once she heard the door shut behind her, she knew there was no turning back now.

"All right, now would you mind telling me what it is that's so Goddamn important?" He crossed to his desk, lowering his large frame back into the chair behind it and fixing his eyes on her meek form. "You'd better have a damn good reason for stopping by like this unannounced, sweetheart. I don't necessarily have all the time in the world." He stole a glance at his wrist watch, "you've got fourty five minutes until my next consult. It starts now so you'd better start talking."

She exhaled sharply, fearing she might start to cry. There were so many emotions bottled up inside her at the moment, she couldn't make sense of any of them. She bit down on her bottom lip, holding back the tears that were already beginning to well up in her large brown eyes. Deliberately turning her head away from him, she sighed softly. Pushing her feelings aside, she slowly turned her head back to meet his gaze. "Look, I know you're probably still pissed about Kimber...leaving you at the altar, but I swear, I have a good reason for coming here today."

Christian's gaze turned stone cold when she brought up Kimber. He exhaled sharply, as his eyes shifted to something else in the room besides her face. "If you came here to talk about Kimber, you can leave my-"

"I didn't," she replied suddenly. She sighed woefully, slowly bringing her hands away from her stomach and inching towards one of the two chairs sitting before his desk. Lowering herself into one of them, she placed her purse on the one beside her before turning her attention back on him. "I came here because...I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, about myself."

He scoffed. "Yes, well we Troys seem to do a lot of that, don't we? Think about ourselves?"

She emitted a scoff of her own. "Yeah, well I know that already, I mean I am your--"

"What's your point?" He cut in rudely.

Amy sighed wearily, leaning back in her seat. "My point is, these past few weeks, well, ever since you and Kimber got engaged, you've been far too busy to spend any time with me. You never come by my apartment anymore, you don't even call me to see how I'm doing. It's as if I don't even exist anymore. Shit, I might as well be dead, and now, now that Kimber is gone, you're not even acting like yourself anymore, and I'm sorry for not letting you know I was coming ahead a time, but that doesn't mean you have to be so rude to me."

Christian rolled his eyes, and even before she finished speaking, she fought hard to resist the urge to reach over the desk and slap that annoyed look off of his face. "So that's what this is about? Jesus Christ! Look, I don't know how many Goddamn times I've told you this, but just because you're my daughter doesn't mean my whole world has to revolve around you, and it sure as hell doesn't mean I have to be with you every second of the day."

"I'm not saying you have to be with me every second of everyday, but you hated Kimber. After what she did to me, you hated her and you even said it yourself that you could never forgive her, but then she showed up again about a month and a half after the whole coke thing happened, and the next thing I know, you two are all over each other within a week. I mean, come on, what's up with that?"

He sighed softly, dropping his gaze to his lap, a scowl crossing his face. "I never said I forgave her for what she did to you, sweetheart, and I still don't, but she did make the effort to clean up her act after that incident, and she hasn't touched an ounce of the shit since we started dating. I recognize the signs. I would have known if she was high, and incase you've forgotten, Kimber and I do have something of a history together, old feelings can just as easily reconstitute themselves."

"But how could you rush into marrying her like that?"

Christian exhaled sharply, shaking his head in disbelief, "you know what? I don't need to explain a Goddamn thing to you. You told me this didn't have a damn thing to do with Kimber, but I can see now that was a lie. I've had enough of this bullshit." He sprang up to his feet so fast that the chair he was sitting it rolled back and hit the wall with an audible bang, causing her to jump in fright. "Get the hell out of my office, go home. Go! Get out!"

Her brows furrowed inquisitively. There was definitely something different about him. This wasn't the same generous and loving father she once knew and loved. What had happened to the old Christian? Had that bitch Kimber taken a part of him when she left? She held her hands up in surrender. "No, no, no! I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You're right. This wasn't supposed to be about Kimber." She sighed deeply. "I should have known that would get me kicked out," she muttered under her breath, looking down at her lap in discouragement.

"I'm not going to tell you again." He spoke in a calmer tone of voice, but although the words were spoken in a calm manner, one look at his eyes and there was no mistaking the loathing that gleamed within them. "Get out of my office or I'll personally escort you there myself."

She looked anxiously up at him, swallowing the huge lump that had taken form in her throat, and not liking her chances. There was something incredibly unnerving and intimidating about him as she stared up at him from that angle. She scowled, knowing that the minutes were ticking by, which meant she was probably going to have to talk even faster. She stared at him with pleading eyes, "no, Christian, please. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I promise, if you let me stay, I won't talk about Ki--her anymore. Please. Just hear me out. I need you to listen to me."

He pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing on her form for a minute, but she couldn't figure out if they were narrowing out of his growing irritation or out of consideration for what she was saying. She hoped to God it was the latter because she in no way wanted to relive the trauma she'd gone through with her adoptive father. A sigh of alleviation escaped her when he let his hands fall back at his sides and plopped back down in his chair with a frustrated sigh. He stole a glance at his watch. "You've got thirty five minutes, sweetie pie, so you better make the most of them. Now if I were you, I'd stop beating around the bush and cut to the chase. What the hell is it that's so important it couldn't be discussed outside of this office?"

Her heart skipped a beat in her chest as she dropped her gaze to her stomach. "I'm...I'm fat."

"Excuse me?"

She tried to read the tone of his voice, trying to figure out if he was angry, confused, or even amused for that matter, but because she refused to look up at him just yet, she couldn't tell simply by going on the sound of his voice. Exhaling sharply, she slowly lifted her chin and met eyes with him, part of her anxiety slipping away when she saw the inquisitive look on his face. "I'm fat, okay?"

Christian sat forward in his seat, cocking his head to scrutinize her figure himself. He sighed deeply and sat back in his seat, keeping his gaze fixated on her face. "Well, you could sure as hell benefit from dropping five pounds, but...you're not fat."

Her jaw went slack. "Five pounds? Oh come on, are you even looking at me? I'm fat! Since you haven't been coming around anymore, all I've been doing is sitting around my apartment all day, miserable and lonely, and all I've done is eat. I've gained eight pounds since then, can't you see it?"

He didn't so much as bother to take another look at her figure but simply remained steadfast. "You gained eight pounds, so what? Don't blame me for your newly acquired beer belly. I wasn't the one who held a gun to your head and made you sit in front of the TV all Goddamn day stuffing your face, and I sure as hell didn't call you up in the middle of the night and urge you to raid the frige for a midnight snack, which I'm guessing you probably did anyway just to finish off that carton of Haggen Daaz."

Just when she thought her jaw couldn't possibly drop any farther, it did. Her eyes narrowed incriminatingly, and now, more than ever, she wanted to slap him across the face or tell him to go to hell. She wanted to do something to make him regret what he just said, but she knew if she did anything to rile him up, she wouldn't get what she came there for. For that matter, she probably wouldn't even get it at all. "How could you say that to me? Why are you being so cruel?"

"What the hell do you want me to say to you? Do you expect me to lie and tell you that you look fine when you don't? Well, newsflash sweetheart, I'm a plastic surgeon. I tell it like it is, to you and any other patient, whether you like it or not. And please, don't accuse me of being cruel when you were the one who insisted you looked fat in the first place."

"I'm not your patient! I'm your daughter!" She sighed irritably, shifting restlessly in her seat.Taking a deep breath to calm her temper, she brought one of her hands up to brush a few loose strands of hair out of her face. "Look, it's not just my stomach that I hate right now. It's everything. When I realized I had gained weight, I also realized...I'm not as pretty as I thought I was, and I'm definitely not a ten." She looked woefully down at her lap, her bottom lip beginning to tremble with on coming tears. "I'm ugly compared to all the other girls around my college, and I'm sick of all my friends that actually have boyfriends. I'm sick of them being able to get dates but the guys in my class don't even notice me."

He sighed wearily, propping his right elbow up on the arm of the chair, and resting his chin on his hand, in the same manner as before. "Well you're right about one thing, you're definitely not a ten. While you might have inherited a few of my good looks here and there, everyone is flawed in their own individual way, so technically, yes, you're not as pretty as you could be."

The scowl on her face grew deeper, taking in a breath to compose herself before slowly raising her eyes back up to him. "Well what am I? On...on a scale of one to ten?" Her heart constricted in her chest, not so sure she wanted to hear the answer.

"Right now? You're a six."

Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach, and she suddenly felt as if someone had knocked all the air out of her. It took her a moment to find her voice. When she finally spoke, her words were barely audible. "A six?" Her brows furrowed incriminatingly, "I don't want to be a six. I want to be a ten, I have to be a ten. How else am I going to get a boyfriend unless I get rid of whatever is making me ugly? I need you to help me. I need you to fix me."

For a long moment, he didn't say anything. All he did was sit there staring at her, his face expressionless. He shook his head, averting his gaze away from her face as a soft chuckle escaped him. "This is bullshit. Look, I really don't have time to play doctor with you right now, sweetheart." He sat forward in his seat, shuffling a few papers on the desk before him, and setting a fresh consult sheet in front of him. "I have patients to see, real patients who actually pay me more than a pretty penny to make them into the perfect ten you so desperately want to be. So why don't you run along and let your daddy get back to doing what he can to pay the bills and keep this business afloat. Hmm?"

She stared at him in disbelief, almost scoffing at the smug and dry tone of his words. "No! I'm serious. I want you to fix me. I need you to fix me. I want you to make me into a ten. Please. I'll do whatever it takes, just please, make me pretty again."

Christian froze when she proceeded to debate with him on the subject, gradually raising his chin to meet her gaze and pursing his lips, his features remaining somber. Leaning back in his chair, he exuded a deep sigh. He held her gaze for one more minute, biting down on his bottom lip in contemplation. With another shake of his head, he turned his head away, averting his eyes to something else other than her face. "Fine. Give me your lipstick...and take off your clothes."

All the color drained from her face at those last four words. She blinked back her astonishment. Surely he couldn't be serious, could he? Although there was absolutely no trace of amusement on his face, she still refused to let herself believe he was actually serious. "I..." She started, trying to form some kind of coherent sentence, but the words were lodged in the back of her throat. "I don't...see why I have to. I mean, you can see that I'm fat!"

He rolled his eyes dramatically. "You think some abdominal lipo is all its gonna take to make you a ten? Think again. If perfection is truly want you want, your first step is to take a long, cold look at reality, and to come to terms with your imperfections. Your beer belly isn't the half of it. God only knows what's lurking beneath that cheap and tasteless ensemble of yours, which is why I feel its necessary."

Her eyes narrowed incriminatingly. She looked away, biting down firmly on her bottom lip, in an attempt to keep herself from uttering the snide remark she wanted desperately to fire back at him. She scoffed, wondering why she was still there and why she continued to let him treat her like shit. I need this. I really, really need this to be beautiful. She shut her eyes, swallowing hard and trying to psych herself up for what he was proposing. A few seconds later, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. "But you're my dad. It...it would be far too weird and uncomfortable."

"You were the one who said you needed me, or was that all just a crock of shit?" He inquired, in a bitter tone of voice.

"It wasn't a crock of shit," she retorted, in the same bitter tone.

"Then prove it!" He snapped, the audible sound of his voice startling her to full alert. "Strip." She opened her mouth to protest again, but he cut her off. "Or leave."

Pushing down another lump in her throat, she turned towards her purse, reaching a shaky hand inside and pulling out her tube of lipstick. She took a deep breath before slowly pushing herself up to her feet, and hesitantly, set the object onto his desk. He cocked a brow her way in challenge when they briefly met each other's gaze. She gently nodded her head before turning away from him, and taking a few steps towards the center of the room. She stood there for a moment or two, wondering if it was too late to back out of this all together.

"I don't have all day, sweetheart. Strip! Or get the hell out of my office. Your time is almost up so if I were you, I'd be yanking those clothes off faster than the speed of light. Now strip, Goddamn it!"

She jumped, trembling slightly at the furious tone of his voice. Without anymore hesitation, she yanked her shirt up and over her head, tossing it to the floor. The next thing she dropped were her pants. She stood there in nothing but her bra and underwear, her heart pounding fiercely in her chest, and unsure of what he wanted her to do next. A shiver danced down her spine from the sudden drop in temperature within the room. "T-there."

A brief moment of silence passed between them.

"Take off the bra," he commanded finally.

After pushing down another lump within her throat, she reached behind herself and with trembling fingers, unhooked her bra, slipping out of it and letting the white, flimsy piece of fabric fall to the floor. She crossed her arms self-consciously over her breasts as another chill came over her body. At this point, her heart was pounding so loud, she wouldn't be surprised if her own father could hear it. She had a feeling he already sensed her fear. "C-can I please leave my...underwear on?" She asked, her voice filled with hope.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." He replied vapidly.

If she wasn't so paranoid at the moment, she probably would have rolled her eyes at the way he answered her just then, but instead, she let a sigh of allieviation escaped her, and she thanked God that he at least allowed her to keep some of her private parts underwraps. She stood there for another minute, but he said nothing. Her brows furrowed inquisitively, wondering what he was waiting for. She opened her mouth to say something and that's when he spoke.

"Turn around."

She sighed softly before slowly turning around to face him, keeping her arms over her breasts protectively. Her eyes anxiously traveled up to meet with his. He stood merely half a foot away from her, the tube of lipstick in his right hand, prepared to do God knew what to her. Judging by the vacant look in his eyes, she didn't know what was going on in his head, if there was anything going on at all.

"Put your arms down."

Her gaze fell awkwardly upon her feet. "I..." She swallowed hard, "I really don't think I can. This is just..." She shook her head, not knowing what else she could say.

He exhaled sharply. "A Goddamn waste of time." He scoffed. "Put your clothes on, and get the hell out of my office. I don't have anymore time for this bullshit."

She quickly looked up to see him walking back to his desk, "no! Wait!" At that moment, she let her arms fall away from her breasts. "I'm ready."

He was merely a few inches away from reaching his desk, but stopped in his tracks once she uttered her last words. Exhaling sharply, he whirled around on his heels and walked back to her. She scowled as he stared sullenly at her face, her cheeks flushing a dark shade of pink when he stopped, letting his eyes roam away from her face and over the rest of her half-naked and trembling body. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she could have sworn she saw him push down a lump of his own within his throat, and his cheeks flush just the slightest bit. As much of an asshole as he was being at the moment, she wouldn't be surprised if he was feeling just the slightest bit nervous and uncomfortable with this. This was wrong on so many levels.

After a brief hesitation, he removed the cap from the tube of pink lipstick. He turned the outer cylinder before he brought the lipstick up to her forehead, "first of all, we need to smooth out these creases on your forehead," he made four dots across her forehead, causing her to wince at the slightly firm pressure he was putting on her skin, "we'll give you botox here and here." He drew a line above each one of her eyebrows, "you could sure as hell benefit from a brow lift, to help get rid of that I-hate-the-whole-Goddamn-world expression you seem to project to everyone around you."

Her brows furrowed incriminatingly. "I don't hate the whole world," she muttered bitterly.

He rolled his eyes with a nod of his head. "And on that note, I rest my case." He brought the lipstick down to her stomach--causing her to jump unexpectedly--drawing lines and circles on her skin, around the area where she had the most fat, "once we get rid of this hideous beer belly of yours, we can graft the fat and deposit it up here," he brought the lipstick back up to her face, making a line down either sides of her nose, "we'll lengthen the bridge, and change the shape of the tip, remove the bump and shave the cartiledge." He made a circle around the tip of her nose, and made a small line on either sides of her nostrils, "i'll breathe a sigh of a relief once I never have to lay eyes on this nose again. I'm sick and tired of being reminded of the irresponsible bitch that conceived you."

To be honest, she never really liked her nose to begin with, and just recently, she had started to realize how weird it looked. It looked deformed. She scowled, standing as still as she could. Although she wanted to pull back or tell him that he had gone far enough, she knew she couldn't and she had a bad and looming feeling that he was far from over. Instead of saying anything or making some sort of remark about his recent critique, she decided to remain quiet.

He drew a line just beneath her lower lip, and two more at each corner of her mouth. "A little Restylane will smooth out the puppet lines around your mouth and a chemical peel," he drew two broad half-circles, one on top of the other, beneath her chin, "will get rid of these early wrinkles on your neck." His gaze fell upon her breasts, his hand freezing merely inches away from them. Then, she saw it. He swallowed hard, and from the apprehensive look on his face, she knew he was feeling exactly as she was.

"Is that...it?" She asked in a meek tone of voice.

Christian exhaled sharply. All of a sudden, that familiar and sullen vexation returned to his eyes, and in a split second, any trace of apprehensiveness vanished from him face. He exuded a scoff. "Like hell it is." Once again, his gaze fell upon her breasts, his brows furrowing considerably, "you know, now that I think about it, you were right all along. A tit job really is the best thing for you, sweetheart, if you plan on getting the attention of the boys in your class." With the tube of lipstick still in his hand, he drew two more broad half-circles above each one of her breasts. "We'll go up a cup size, maybe about a high C."

She looked up at him inquisitively. "A high C? How high?"

"High enough that the boys around campus be lining up for dates. Look, if you really want me to turn you into a ten, sweetie pie, do me a favor and don't ask questions."

"Well, I just don't--" She started to reply, but was rudely interrupted by him.

He shook his head in disbelief, his brows stiching together incrimatingly, and his voice escalating with his next words. "Here I am, willing to give you the Goddamn tits you wanted from the start, and you're worrying about size?"

"Well, yeah. I don't want end up with huge ass boobs like Pamela Anderson or something."

He rolled eyes dramatically. "Jesus Christ! Did I say I was going to turn you into Pamela Anderson? No." A weary sigh escaped him. "Your time is probably down to about five minutes by now, so if I were you, I'd stand still, shut up, and let me finish." Without giving her the chance to say anymore, he got back down to business, placing both of his hands on her shoulders and forcing her to turn around, her back now facing him.

She sighed irritably, shaking her head in disbelief, still unable to believe how rude he was being to her at the moment. "Look, its not my fault that--" She gasped, suddenly feeling his fingers slip beneath the fabric of her underwear, and pull it back a couple inches to draw more lines across her sun-kissed and tender skin. On instinct, she felt herself pull back and away from his hand. "I-I think that's enough, don't you?" All she got out of him was a heavy and irritable sounding sigh. Her heart pounded uncontrollably, as she swallowed the huge lump in her throat, fearful of what would happen next.

Rather than reply to her question, he ignored it, and continued onward, his movements becoming more aggressive and forceful than before. He kept one of his strong hands firmly upon her shoulder, preventing her from moving or going anywhere. She could feel him drawing more lines around her buttocks, along her hips, and down the back of her thighs.The saying was definitely true. Actions spoke louder than words, and right now, she was not liking what his actions were saying. It wouldn't surprise her if he ended up breaking her lipstick because of how much pressure he was putting on her skin. She cringed, wondering if the marks he was making were even necessary anymore or if he was simply channeling his anger through his choice of actions.

Amy stood there for about another minute, wondering if he was going to go as far as to mark up her entire body because of how angry he was. She heard him clear his throat, just before he set both of his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. The next thing she came face-to-face with was her own reflection. He had turned her towards the full-length mirror in the far corner of the office. Once she laid eyes on her body, a deep scowl came over her face. From her forehead down to her hips, there were lines of lipstick all over her body. If she thought she looked like a freak before, she looked like the Queen of the Freaks now. How could she step foot out of his office looking like that?

"Does that answer your question? I told you it was going to take more than a Goddamn tummy tuck to make you a ten, sweetheart." He sighed wearily, staring at her reflection in the mirror before them. " Looks like I've got my work cut out for me."

Her brows furrowed incriminatingly. Out of self-consciousness and in a vain attempt to preserve what was left of her dignity, she crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her breasts from view, or more importantly, from his view. It was far too creepy to just stand there and let him stare at them with that intently cryptic look in his eyes. "I never thought there was anything wrong with my face. Am I really...that ugly?" Her voice broke with her last words.

"You're twenty years old. Pre-mature aging can be a royal bitch, but when you get to be your age, it can start taking its toll on that pretty face of yours before you even realize it. It won't be long before gravity takes an effect on your tits and your ass drops another five inches. "

Once again, she felt her heart constrict in her chest, and as hard as she fought to keep them at bay, she felt tears start to well up in her large brown eyes. She looked woefully down at her white sock covered feet. How could he be so cruel? Well, she had had enough. Shrugging his arms off her shoulders, she turned away from him and scooped up her sweat pants, stepping into them and quickly pulling them on.

"Don't take it personal, sweetheart. If anything, you should consider yourself lucky you have me as your surgeon. No other plastic surgeon in South Beach has enough skill to make you go from Jenny Craig to Jenny McCarthy overnight."

A single tear escaped the corner of her eye as she slipped her bra back on, and reached behind her to fasten the hooks in place. "I don't know why I'm letting you be so mean to me."

A long silence passed between them, and for a minute, somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought he might apologize for what he had just done to her.

"And here I thought you would appreciate my honesty." He scoffed. "What a waste."

She whirled around on her heels, staring incredulously at him as he stopped in front of his desk, and turned around to face her. "A waste? What's a waste? Me? Are you calling me a waste?"

"This consult was a waste of time! I gave you the cold and honest truth, and why? Because I'm your father? No. Because I'm one of the best Goddamn plastic surgeons in Miami. I deal with this shit day in and day out. I bust my ass every day turning flabby women into supermodels, and do I ever hear a thank you? No."

Exhaling sharply, she bent down and scooped up her T-Shirt, pulling it over her head and back on her body. If she had it her way, she would have rather preferred to shower first to get rid of the lipstick. Her eyes narrowed in vexation. "You think I'm going to say thank you after what you just did to me? After the way you treated me?"

"After the way I treated you? You came to me, remember? Any other surgeon probably would have kicked you out on your ass, seeing as how you didn't have an appointment, but I didn't. You wanted me to help me, you said you needed me, and that's exactly what I did, I helped you."

She scoffed, planting her hands firmly on her hips and marching towards him. "Helped me by showing me how ugly I am?" She sighed deeply. "Look, the only reason I came here was because I wanted to get rid of my fat. That's all. I didn't ask to be completely made over."

He sighed irritably, and she could see that his patience was wearing thin. From the icy glare he was giving her, she could tell that he was on the verge of losing his temper. "Oh bullshit! You told me you wanted to get rid of whatever the hell it was that was making you ugly. I told you, no, I showed you how ugly you were. I did what you asked me to, Goddamn it, and now you're bitching at me?"

There was a knock on the door, just before Nurse Linda, a short, full-figured, and middle-aged blonde woman in blue scrubs peeked her head in. "Dr. Troy? Your five thirty is here."

Both she and Christian turned their heads the moment the door opened. Christian exchanged a look with Amy before looking back at the woman and exhaling sharply. "I'll be right there." Once the woman departed and the door shut behind her, Christian fixed his determined gaze back on Amy. "We're done here." He took a step towards her, reaching over and grabbing her purse from the chair she'd set it on. After dropping the tube of lipstick he'd used inside it, he handed her purse to her. He waited until she took it before placing his hand against the small of her back, and giving her another small but somewhat forceful push in the direction of the door. "It's time for you to leave, sweetheart."

"Wait." She stopped in her tracks and spun around, staring incredulously at him. "So what? That's it? You're not going to give me the surgeries? Not even one?"

He brushed the fabric of his lab coat aside, planting his hands firmly on his hips. Tilting his head to one side, he stared at her with a look of exasperation on his face. "Give me one good reason why I should. After all, we both know you wouldn't appreciate a damn bit of work I did anyway. Why even bother?" He arched his brows expectantly.

"I would appreciate it! But if I really have to give you a reason why you should do it, just forget it! Just forget the whole thing!" She whirled around on her heels and pulled the door open. "I'll just find another surgeon," she muttered under her breath.

Christian scoffed. "Good luck in finding one. I can tell you right now that unless you plan on offering the surgeon sexual favors in exchange for a supermodel body, you're shit out of luck." Without waiting for her to reply, and without another word, he pushed past her and stepped out into the hallway, heading towards the front of the office.

Her heart constricted in her chest as the tears started to roll down her cheeks. She didn't know who that person was, but he sure wasn't her father. What had happened to him? What had happened to her loving father? Whoever that was, it hadn't been Christian Troy. It had been an evil demon wearing his face. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so empty. She brought both of her hands up to her head, running her fingers through her hair and placing her palms on either sides of it. The tears streamed down her cheeks as she slung the strap of her purse over her right shoulder, and scurried towards the front of the office. She had to get out of there. If she stayed there another minute, she might end up doing something she might regret later, either to herself or someone else.

---

A woeful sigh escaped her lips as Amy eyes roamed over the assortment of chocolate and hard candy that lined the shelves before her. She bit down on her bottom lip anxiously. Did she really want to go and stuff her face all over again just to get fatter? She'd feel more depressed than she already was, and not only that, but she would probably hate herself ten times more than she already did. "I wasn't the one who held a gun to your head and made you sit in front of the TV all Goddamn day stuffing your face, and I sure as hell didn't call you up in the middle of the night and urge you to raid the fridge for a midnight snack." She cringed, her heart constricting in her chest when she remembered the cruel words Christian had spoken to her earlier that day.

Grabbing the Cookies & Cream Hershey's bar, and package of Starburst she had set into her shopping basket a minute ago, she placed them back on the shelf, forcing herself to turn away and continue through the rest of the supermarket for what she actually come there for. Of course, she refused to go anywhere but straight home after her horrific visit to McNamara/Troy, and after she had showered, she put on some clean clothes and drove to the supermarket three blocks away to get some asprin. Having been there for about fourty five minutes already, she figured she'd stop by the magazine aisle, maybe grab some microwavable seafood meals and then be on her way out.

As she browsed through the numerous shelves of magazines, she couldn't help but scowl when she noticed the majority of women's magazines had pictures of beautiful and nearly flawless actresses, singers, and models on their covers. It seemed almost massochistic to choose one to her liking. She looked sadly down at the latest copy of Cosmopolitan she held in her hand, which had a picture of Eva Longoria in a low-cut red dress on the front of it, with the headline underneath reading: "Eva reveals how she got her hot new bod." She rolled her eyes, tossing the magazine back on the shelf, but upon impact with another magazine, it ended up sliding off the shelf and falling to the ground. With a grunt, she bent over to pick it up. Upon feeling someone bump into her from behind, she cried out, straightened back up, and quickly turned around to see it was.

"Amy. Well, it seems we keep bumping into each other today, don't we?" A soft chuckle escaped the scum bag before her, his slightly full lips curling into a cocky smile. "I didn't expect to see you here this evening."

Quentin Costa. Wonderful. She rolled her eyes dramatically. He was the last person she wanted to see at the moment. Why did they keep bumping into each other? There was something a little creepy about these weird coincidences of them being at the same place at the same time. She sighed wearily, averting her eyes to something else other than his face. "Yeah, ditto," she muttered.

He looked down at the magazine on the ground, and without hesitation, bent down to retrieve it. After taking a brief glance at the cover, he smirked and looked up at her, gesturing back to the picture on the front. "Eva Longoria, beautiful woman, much like yourself."

Her eyes narrowed inquisitively. Did he just pay her a compliment? What did he want now? She had to shudder to think. Truth be told, it had been a long time since a man had called her beautiful, but considering the earlier events of the day, it did make her feel considerably better, at least a little bit. "Look, I'm not beautiful, all right? I'm not. I don't know what you think you're going to gain by complimenting me. You know what? Just leave me alone." She turned away from him, walking a few steps down the aisle and focusing her attention back on the shelves.

"Believe me, the only thing I'd expect to gain from it would be your friendship. There's nothing wrong with a harmless compliment between friends, is there?"

"We aren't friends." She shot him a dirty look over her shoulder. "In fact, we'll never be friends, okay?"

"It doesn't necessarily have to be that way. I believe I conveyed that much the last time we talked. See, it's my philosophy that two people can't become united as friends, unless their willing to take the time to get to know the other, on both a spiritual and emotional level."

Amy scoffed. "I'd feel better not getting to know you on any level." She picked up another magazine, rifling through the pages, if only to get her mind off the fact that he was still there, or that he was even still talking to her for that matter. Maybe if she made it seem as if she were too absorbed in the magazine she was reading, he would be smart enough to turn around and walk away. She took a few more steps further down the aisle, putting as much distance as she could between her and Quentin. Her steps came to a hault when she saw a tall, slim and big breasted brunette. Her skin was the color of cinnamon, and in addition to her youthful and pretty face, she had a model-like figure that clearly looked as though it had been given to her by a plastic surgeon. She highly doubted that God had given her those boobs, or those flawless features. It didn't surprise Amy in the least bit that the brunette was on the arm of a tall and ruggedly handsome man, who could have just as easily stepped off the cover of GQ magazine with his sharp dressed ensemble.

She scowled enviously at the pair as they passed her by, shooting daggers at the woman, and knowing full well that if the brunette didn't look as she did, there was no way in hell she could get a guy like that to go out with her. Amy knew she could never get a guy like that. Well, at least not with the body she had now. Suddenly, the earlier and painful events of the day that she had tried so hard to push out of her mind, came back to haunt her, to hurt her, and once again, make her feel like the ugly girl she knew she was. Her heart constricted in her chest, as she forced herself to turn her eyes away from the pair. Placing the magazine back on the shelf, she sighed woefully and looked sadly down at the floor as she continued down the aisle.

"Well, I must say I'm surprised."

Amy jumped at the voice, quickly turning around and coming face-to-face with Quentin. She seemed to have forgotten he was even there with the few minutes that had passed by. There had been a good amount of distance between them before, but now, he stood merely a foot away from her, and although he wasn't towering over her, his sudden closeness was just a little too close for comfort. "God, do you always do that?" She cried.

His brows furrowed inquisitively. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you wouldn't," she muttered. "Obviously."

"I know its probably none of my business, but it does come as a surprise. How can such an attractive young woman have such a negative shelf-image? As a surgeon, I get paid thousands of dollars a year, operating on flabby middle-aged women who would probably kill to look half as good as you."

She felt a surge of warmth rush through her heart at his words. Maybe Quentin wasn't a total scum bag after all. That is, if his words were genuinely sincere. She turned her head and met eyes with him, searching his intuative blue eyes for some hidden and unspeakable motive. She saw nothing. His gaze was void of maliciousness, and he only looked at her with intent and unpretentious interest. She sighed, grabbing a copy of Cosmo Girl and dropping it into her basket. "Oh please. I'm not attractive. I'm not even pretty. I'm a six, a hideous and fat Six."

Quentin's forehead wrinkled inquisitively. "And just who was it that told you you were a six?"

Amy exhaled sharply, shaking her head and turning away from him. She took a few steps forward, grabbing a copy of In Touch off the shelf and tossing it into her basket on top of the other one. Even as she continued walking, she knew he was still following her. She could hear his footsteps behind her. Rather than say anything, she pretended as if she didn't even hear the question. However, she froze dead in her tracks upon hearing his next words.

"Was it Christian?"

She cringed, biting down on her bottom lip, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her all over again. "You know, its really none of your business."

He shook his head. "No, you're right, its not. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to impose."

She sighed deeply, nodding her head in regard. Assuming he had dropped the subject entirely, she continued on her way. Unfortunetly, it didn't end there. She came to the end of the aisle, and was about to enter the produce section, but before she could even take another step, Quentin did the obnoxious thing. He stepped forward and placed himself in front of her, blocking her path. Her brows stitched together incrimatingly. She opened her mouth, about to ask him what he thought he was doing, but he spoke before she had a chance to utter one word.

"You know, Amy, just because Christian is a surgeon doesn't make him an expert on beauty. We both know he could benefit greatly from going back to med school and repeating that course on bedside manner."

She scowled, averting her gaze down at her feet in discouragement. "He's not always like..." Her voice trailed off. She knew that he was right, but that didn't mean she was going to openly admit to it. "Like he was today. He's usually so thoughtful and nice to me. At least he used to be."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, we both know what a judgemental asshole he can be. Its no secret, especially not to anyone around the office. If I were you, I wouldn't take anything he says into consideration. Half the time, he's so self-absorbed, he rarely takes into consideration the musings of anyone else anyway. He's rarely the type of person who takes responsibility for his actions, but considering your mood, I'm assuming he was the one responsible for making up your face with lipstick earlier this afternoon."

Amy blinked, quickly raising her chin to look up at him once he mentioned the lipstick incident. "How do you know about that?"

"Well, you did tell me you were there to see Christian. I went out to grab a bite to eat on my lunch break while you were in his office. I was on my way back to the office when I saw you heading in the opposite direction. I walked right past you, but apparently you were too overcome with emotion to notice me at the time." A sympathetic smile appeared on his face.

She sighed softly, nodding her head. "Right." She exhaled sharply, shaking her head in disbelief. "God, I don't know why I even bothered asking him for help. If I knew he was going to do that..." Her voice broke with emotion. Pursing her lips, she held back the tears that were threatening to fall. Her brows furrowed in bewilderment. What was she doing? Why was she letting Quentin in on her personal problems? She barely knew him. How could she trust him?

Quentin shook his head with a groan, "that's definitely no way to treat a woman, especially someone as fortunate enough to be born with a naturally flawless face, as you were. Clearly, he must have been thinking with another part of his anatomy."

She brought her hopeful and slightly inquisitive eyes back to his face. "Are you saying I don't need anything done to my face to be beautiful?"

His lips stretched into a smirk. "I wouldn't change a thing. In Christian's eyes, you might be a six, but I've been in this business just as long as he has, and in my professional opinion, you're a nine. A breast augmentation is something you might want to take into consideration, that is, if you ever decide you want to add some curves to your figure."

A small smile managed to cross her face. "Well, I wouldn't go as far as a nine, but thanks." Upon hearing someone say "excuse me," she came to the realization that she and Quentin were blocking someone's path. She took a step back, as did he, allowing the young blonde to get by. It was hard for her to believe she was still in the supermarket, or that she was still talking to Quentin Costa for that matter. There was definitely something wrong with this picture. Although a part of her wanted to stick around and continue the conversation, she pushed that temptation out of her mind. "You know what? I'm gonna go. I have to go home and...do my laundry."

Without giving him the chance to reply, she turned on her heels and started walking off in the opposite direction. She had only gotten about three feet, but stopped short when she heard him call her name. Her brows furrowed questionably, wondering what he could possibly want now. She turned back around, gazing at him expectantly. A friendly smile appeared on his face, as he stepped towards her, closing the short distance between them. "You've had a hard day. Why don't you let me help you relax? What do you say we finish this conversation over a bottle of Pinot Grigio?" He held up the bottle of wine--that she hadn't realized he was holding a moment ago--in his right hand. "We can go back to your place, order some take-out, maybe get to know each other a little better."

Her eyes narrowed in consideration as her gaze settled on the bottle in his hand. She didn't have to be psychic to know he was referring to an alcoholic drink. After all, the two of them were standing just a few feet few away from the liquor aisle. Her eyes darted back and forth, from the bottle to his face then back to the bottle. She chewed apprehensively on the inside of her cheek. "Uh..." Her mind was screaming at her to turn back around, turn around and walk as far away as she could from him, go home, and just fall asleep in front of the TV, but at the moment, she couldn't get her feet to obey.

Quentin chuckled softly. "Don't tell you've never had a glass of Pinot Grigo before."

She pursed her lips. "Well, actually I..." Her voice trailed off, realizing something that she'd hadn't given any thought to before. He had no idea that she was only twenty years old, just one year shy of the legal drinking age. She shook her head, saying the first thing that came to mind. "I really should go, because...you know, I've got laundry to do."

His forehead wrinkled in thought. "Somehow I find that hard to believe. Have you had a chance to eat dinner yet?"

She scowled. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't. After her shower, she realized there was nothing left in her refrigerator but a twelve-can pack of Mountain Dew, and a tub of strawberry cream cheese, which had prompted her to come to the market. Her stomach growled audibly. She knew she didn't have much money on her at the moment, and if she didn't get some food soon, she might just collapse right then and there. "No."

"Well, you need to eat something. Come on, you could use a drink, especially after the day you've had. It'll be my treat."

Sighing wearily, she stole another glance at the bottle in his hand, not so sure about the alcohol, but considering the day she'd had, he was probably right. Besides, wasn't alcohol made to help a person drown out their sorrows? Suddenly, without giving it another thought, the words left her mouth, "okay, I guess one drink couldn't hurt." Her shoulders rose and fell in a shrug.

His lips curled into a victorious smile. "Great. Are you ready to go?"

She nodded her head, and without another word, followed alongside him to the check-out lanes at the front of the store. After they paid for the items they had, they walked out of the store and next door to the Chinese restaurant to order some take-out. To avoid the uneasiness of letting him do the driving, and seeing as how they had come in seperate cars, she persuaded him to meet her back at her apartment. It was a little creepy having him follow her home, but it would have been ten times more creepy if he'd suggested his place instead of hers. At least he had enough sense to let her have some control of the situation.

---

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at her condo. In an effort to make their little dinner date less awkward, Amy put on some music. Within a matter of minutes, she and Quentin were sitting side-by-side each other on her comfy brown sofa, eating orange chicken and fried rice out of take-out boxes, as the tune of the Gotan Project's track, "Tango Canción" drifted out of her stereo speakers.

Setting the box of orange chicken in hand down on the coffee table, Quentin took the bottle of Pinot Grigio he'd set there previously, and poured a glass for her and himself. Since Amy didn't have any wine glasses, he'd opted for using the regular round glasses she owned. He filled both glasses about an inch beneath the brim, just before handing one over to her. She was a bit hesitant.

He smiled a reassuring smile at her. "One drink couldn't hurt, right? You'll never know whether you'll like something until you try it."

She forced a small smile before taking the glass from him, and bringing the rim up to her lips to take a sip. Quentin watched intently as she did so. Her was right. It really wasn't as bad as she thought it was going to be. In fact, aside from the slight dryness and acidity of it, it had a surprisingly fruity and sweet taste to it, as well as aroma, and although she knew it was there, she could barely taste the actual rum.

"You like it?" He inquired.

Amy nodded her head, letting the wine slide down her throat and settle into her system. "Mmm. Mm-hmm. It's great." She took another drink, this one longer than the first.

"Well, in that case," he raised his own glass in a "toasting" fashion, "cheers." She smiled softly, clinking her glass against his before taking a guzzle along with him.

Placing her glass back on the coffee table, she picked up her carton of orange chicken and went back to consuming it, as Quentin did the same. She didn't know why she had been so afraid of consuming an alcoholic beverage earlier. It's not like one glass or two would do her any harm. In fact, it was rather tasty.

"Quite a lovely place you got here. It's a strange coincidence, don't you think? You living right next door to Christian." Quentin remarked, gazing curiously at her from his side of the sofa.

Her eyes widened for a nano second. With a clear of her throat, she looked down into the box she held in her hand, poking at the contents inside with her chopsticks. "Uh...yeah. Yeah, I guess it is. I didn't even know this was...his building." She swallowed the huge lump in her throat. It really wasn't that much of a concidence, seeing as how Christian had negotiated with his neighbor to give up their apartment so she could move in, shortly after she had come into his life. Of course, she couldn't tell Quentin that.

"But I'm betting that if you had known you two would be neighbors, you probably would have thought twice about moving in here."

She looked up at him in bewilderment. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Look, I know its none of my business, but considering the circumstances of your visit to McNamara/Troy this afternoon, you and Christian appear to be experiencing some problems in your relationship. I mean, come on, living next-door to your boyfriend, especially an insensitive asshole like Christian, that's gotta be more than a little awkward, right?"

She cringed, her heart constricting in her chest as the memories of the day's events came rushing back to her. If this were any other day, and if her father hadn't been such a prick to her recently, she probably would have uttered some sort of snide remark to Quentin in response to talking badly about her father. It might have been the wine calming her nervous system, but at the moment, she didn't care what he said. Wait a minute, was she hearing things or had he just referred to Christian as her boyfriend? Her stomach lurched, and for a second, she couldn't figure out if it was on account of the wine or at the mere thought of her and her father being romantically involved. Leaning forward, she grabbed her glass and took another guzzle, in a vain attempt to rid her mind of such inappropriate thoughts. "Christian's not my boyfriend," she replied, setting the glass back in its place.

A puzzled expression came over Quentin's face. "Really." She nodded her head in agreement. "Well, you certainly had me fooled. After all, you two sure tend to spend a lot of time together, and you seem awfully intimate around the office. I guess I just assumed you two were involved." He shoved a piece of orange chicken in his mouth before taking a swig from his glass.

"We're not involved." She insisted. "He's not my boyfriend, and I'm definitely not his girlfriend."

"Of course not, what was I thinking? Last I heard, he and Kimber were about to be married. It would've been a crying shame if his bride-to-be had caught him cheating just hours before the wedding." A smile played at the corners of Quentin's mouth. Leaning forward, he set his box of orange chicken down, took another swig of his wine, just before turning back to face her. He scooted a little closer to her on the sofa, gazing deeply into her eyes. "You should consider yourself lucky."

She stole a glance down at the sofa, swallowing the huge lump that had formed in her throat, noticing that there were only seven inches between them at this point. Her instincts were telling her to scoot over, but as much as she wanted to do so, her mind would not obey her will. She blamed the wine. "Why?"

"A woman as incredibly beautiful as you deserves better."

She rolled her eyes. "What is that? A pick-up line?"

Quentin leaned a little closer to her, shaking his head. "It's a compliment," he murmured.

As he leaned forward, she leaned back, wondering what it was was he was trying to do. "Well thank you." She consumed a couple more pieces of orange chicken before placing the box onto the coffee table, and taking another guzzle of her wine. Once she turned back to face him, he placed his arm against the back of the sofa, moving a few inches closer, the fabric of his pant leg now rubbing against the leg of her jeans.

"Just by looking at you, I can tell you've had more than your share of boyfriends over the years."

She cleared her throat uncomfortably, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Exhaling sharply, she shook her head, meeting his gaze. "Well, no, not really." Before she could prevent it from happening, the words came tumbling out of her mouth. "In fact, I've never had a boyfriend at all. The guys I used to go to school with rarely ever talked to me, or even looked in my direction. I guess you can say I've always been a six." She looked woefully down at her lap.

He blinked back his surprise. "You're kidding."

She shook her head. "I wish I was."

Quentin shook his head. "Oh come on, you're stunning," he lifted his arms, placing his hands on either sides of her neck, and letting the pad of his thumbs lightly caress the skin along her jaw. He let his thumbs trace a line from each corner of her mouth to each ear, much in the form of a "grin." His lips twisted into a smug smirk, "truly, a vision. Any man would be lucky to have you, including me. To Christian, you're a six, but in my personal opinion, you'll never be anything less than a ten."

It might have been the wine that was clouding her better judgement at the moment, but his words succeeded in warming in her heart, and suddenly, all the negative feelings she had previously towards Quentin, vanished. Her eyelids fell shut, the feeling of his thumbs caressing her skin allowing her to relax. She sighed softly, feeling his warm breath against her jaw, and in the next second, his lips against her own. Her heart pounded madly in her chest. Not knowing what to do with her lips next, and because this was her first kiss, she allowed his to guide her. He opened his mouth wider to deepen the contact, the desire in his kiss leaving her wanting more. She moaned softly when he placed his left hand against her hip, and proceeded to get even closer to her, urging her backward until she was lying flat on her back against the comfy cushions of the sofa.

In the back of her mind, she knew this was wrong and knew she should put an end to it before it went too far, but a larger part of her subconsciousness had become too jaded to care. Her arms found their way around his neck, his rugged upper body pressing her meek figure deeper into the cushions. Kissing was a new experience for her, but she was definitely getting the hang of it, and Quentin wasn't a bad tutor either. Her fingers slipped into the dark and wavy strands of hair on his head, as she opened her mouth wider. She expected him to do the same. Unfortunetly, what she didn't expect was the hand that managed to sneak its way beneath her shirt, and slide under the waistband of her jeans. Her eyes came open the moment she felt his fingers slip inside her underwear. She pulled back, shoving his hand away and looking incriminatingly up into his bewildered face. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What? I thought we were having a good time?" He turned his head, dipping his chin to kiss and nibble at the skin along the curve of her neck, while his hand found its way back to the waistband of her jeans, undoing the top button, and preparing to unzip them.

She sighed softly at the feel of his lips against her skin, her body involuntarily trembling. "Stop it," she murmured, in an attempt to try and gain control of the situation, but her words were nothing more than a whisper. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt the zipper on her jeans slide open, and his hand slip once again inside her underwear. "What are you..." She looked down at the hand inside her pants, his fingers dangerously close to the opening of her vagina. With an irritable groan, she placed both of her hands against his shoulders, and using what little strength she had left, shoved him off of her. "I said stop it! Get off me asshole!"

Quentin stared at her with the same baffled expression that had been on his face previously. "I'm sorry. Is there a problem?"

Her eyes narrowed irritably as she pushed herself up to a seated position, shaking her head in disbelief. He really was the scum bag of the century, especially since he was playing it off as if he hadn't done anything wrong. "You're damn right there's a problem! I never said you could put your hand in my pants. I didn't even give you permission to kiss me."

He sighed softly, his face now devoid of expression. After a moment's hesitation, he spoke. "You gave me permission to come over. You welcomed me into your apartment, and during the past fourty five minutes, we've certainly seemed to be hitting it off. You didn't give me the permission to kiss you, but you didn't exactly pull away from me either, did you?"

She rolled her eyes, falling quiet at his last words. Okay, so maybe he was right about that one, but she'd be damned if she was going to let him put the blame entirely on her. "I didn't give you the permission to put your hand down my pants!" She cringed, her stomach turning when she thought about what could have happened had she not stopped him when she did.

This time, it was Quentin's turn to roll his eyes. "Oh please, we both know it would've happened sooner or later, whether or not you gave me permission. Look me in the eye, and tell me you're not the slightest bit attracted to me."

Amy scoffed, looking him directly in the eye. "I am not now nor will I ever be attracted to you. There! I said it."

He scowled, sat forward and grabbed his glass of wine, taking a swig. A frustrated sigh escaped him. He stole a glance back at her, his lips stretching into a smirk. "Well let's not let a little thing like this ruin the evening, especially when we have half a bottle of wine left." He refilled their glasses, pouring a little more wine into each one. Grabbing her glass, he held it out for her to take. "Have another drink."

She exhaled sharply. "I don't want another..." Her voice trailed off, feeling her stomach lurch for the second time. Suddenly, before she could prevent it from happening, she leaned forward and vomited...all over Quentin's lap.

"Shit!" Quentin sprang up to his feet, looking apallingly down at his soiled pants with a weary sigh. He set the wine glass in his hand down on the end table beside the couch, emiting a low growl. "Well, now I can see why you don't have a boyfriend."

She exuded a dry cough, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before placing it over her belly, fearing she might vomit again. "Get out," she commanded.

He started walking backwards on his heels, heading in the direction of the door but after six feet, he stopped. "You know, tonight really didn't have to end this way. I hope the next time we meet is under better circumstances."

"Get the hell out!" She shouted. "Now!" When he didn't make a move to leave, she reached for the wine bottle and stood up, raising the bottle above her head, prepared to hurl at his if he didn't start walking.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You haven't got the guts."

"Oh no?" She raised the bottle a little higher, lunging at him. "Get out of here you asshole!" She screamed. He nodded his head, turned on his heels and continued towards the door. As soon as the door shut behind him, she marched over and dead bolted it. She turned around, leaning her back against the door and crossing her arms firmly over her chest. She sighed irritably. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have let that asshole into her apartment? Was she really that stupid? What was she thinking? A million questions raced through her head, and she couldn't even begin to figure out the answers to any of them.

Her stomach lurched as she pushed herself away from the door, and marched back into her living room. Her eyes instantly fixed themselves on the bottle of Pinot Grigio. It was the wine. It had to have been the wine that did this to her, and the thought that he had been trying to get her drunk simply to cooperate with his wishes made her feel even more nauseated than she already was. Grabbing the bottle of wine, she stomped towards her kitchen, stepping inside a moment later and hurling it into the sink with an angry growl. The wine bottle shattered upon impact. She turned her head away, protecting herself from the shards of glass that went flying in every direction.

Once the sweet smelling aroma filled her nostrils, she felt her stomach turn and knew she was going to blow chunks again. Placing her hand over her mouth, she whirled around on her heels and immediately dashed towards the bathroom. She sank to her knees in front of the toilet and vomited, hating Quentin ten times more than she had before, and hating herself for being weak enough to give into his advances. When she could vomit no more, she pushed herself away from the toilet bowl and leaned against the wall across from it, shutting her eyes and exuding a deep sigh. Her day had gone from bad to worse, and all she wanted to do at the moment was sleep.

---

Christian bit down on his bottom lip as he fought to gain control of his emotions, and hold back the tears that were already stinging his red eyes. Everything in his life seemed to be going to shit, and after the previous day's events, he felt like the biggest prick in the world. Although he wouldn't admit to anyone but himself, his attempt to forget about Kimber and move on by screwing an unattractive patient with a bag on her head, had been the lowest he'd ever stooped to get laid. That wasn't the worst of it though. He had been such an insensitive asshole to Amy, his own daughter.

He looked down at the piece of paper that was folded in his right hand, as he approached the elevator inside his apartment building. His heart constricted in his chest when he reacalled the painful words his ex-fiance had written to him. It still didn't make a damn bit of sense. They were so in love, and up until last week, everything seemed to be going fine. Receiving Kimber's letter that afternoon had made him realize just how stupid he had been, about everything. A soft sigh escaped him as the doors before him rolled open, and he entered the lift.

A few moments later, he reached his designated floor and stepped off of the lift. He walked down the broad corridor until he came to apartment 12 A. He pursed his lips, squared his broad shoulders and tugged at the collar of his red dress shirt. After a brief moment of hesitation, he brought his hand up to softly rap on the door. He took a deep breath to try and compose himself, and pushed down whatever melancholy emotions he was still feeling, as he waited patiently for the door to open.

After another minute, the door opened a few inches and Amy peeked her head out. She sighed wearily and rolled her eyes, glaring up at him. "What do you want?"

He sighed softly, tilting his head to one side. "Look, I know you probably think I'm nothing more than a Goddamn prick right now, but I need to talk to you, about what happened yesterday."

Her eyes narrowed irritably. "There's nothing to talk about. Go away." Before he could say anymore, she slammed the door on his face.

He should have seen that one coming. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he exhaled sharply, raising his voice to be heard through the door. "Amy...come on sweetheart, I came over to try and make amends. The least you can do is give me five minutes of your time, in exchange for the fourty five minutes I gave you yesterday."

"Give me one good reason why I should!" She exclaimed, from the opposite side of the door.

"Why don't you open the door and see for yourself," he replied with a roll of his eyes, looking down at the bouquet of red roses cradled in his arms. He knew roses were her favorite.

After another minute, she opened the door, much wider than before, her gaze instantly falling on the flowers in his arms. He saw a small smile appear on her face, but the moment she brought her gaze up to his face, it was gone just as fast as it had come. She crossed her arms firmly over her chest, glancing from the roses to his face, her brows furrowing inquisitively. "Just because you brought me roses doesn't mean I'm going to automatically forgive you, and it definitely won't make up for how you treated me."

Christian looked down at the letter he still held in his right hand, scowling deeply. With a clear of his throat, he slipped it beneath his black suit jacket and rested his eyes back on her face. "I know that, all right? I acted like the prick of the century yesterday, and I'm sorry. I'm really truly sorry, sweetheart." He exhaled sharply as the flood gates threatened to break open once again.

She stared at him for a long moment, her brows furrowed in consideration. He could tell she was debating whether or not to believe him, but what did he have to lie about? The emotion and regret was written all over his face. She gingerly stepped forward, taking the bouquet of roses from his arms and bringing them up to her nose to inhale their fresh and sweet smelling aroma. That small smile returned to her face as she slowly raised her eyes up to meet his gaze. "You really hurt my feelings, and I know you were just being honest and for the sake of doing your job or whatever, but it still hurt me."

He scowled. "I know, but again, I'm sorry...for everything that happened. I was out of line." He sighed deeply, stealing a glance in either direction of the hallway. "Can I come in? I promise, I won't stay longer any longer than ten or fifteen minutes."

Amy looked down at her feet, letting out a sigh of her own, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She opened the door wider, stepping out of the way and allowing him to walk in. He bit down on his bottom lip before crossing the threshold and entering her apartment. He heard the door shut behind him as he whirled around on his heels to face her. She walked past him and turned right, walking through her living room and into her kitchen. He trailed behind her, stopping in the doorway and leaning his hip against the frame, watching quietly as she retrieved a blue glass vase from the top cupboard, filled it with water and put the roses inside it.

He waited for her to say something to him, anything, but when she didn't, he decided he would have to initiate the conversation. After all, he had come there with a purpose. "Look, as much as I'd like to, I know I can't go back and change things, but as you recall, you did come to me asking for my help. As brutal as my honesty was, I did make some effort to help you."

Without so much as glancing over her shoulder, she remained standing at the sink, her back facing him. "You didn't give me my surgery, or should I say surgeries, and you could have been a little nicer about it. The way you were with that lipstick, the way you touched me..." Her voice trailed off, as she placed both of her hands on either sides of the counter and bowed her head. "When I came home yesterday, I jumped right into the shower, and when I started scrubbing all that lipstick off, I started crying." Her voice wavered with her next words, "I stood there in the shower and I just cried and cried. I couldn't stop."

Tears stung his eyes as he listened to her speak, the images of her scrubbing off the remains of his anger-driven marks and crying her eyes out, breaking his heart all over again. He had made her cry a couple times in the past with the things he'd done. It wasn't something he was particular proud of. He sighed woefully, pushing himself away from the door frame and cautiously taking a step towards her. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I didn't think..." He exhaled sharply. "I never meant to make you cry. I never meant to hurt you, but after what happened with Kimber..." He pursed his lips, holding back the tears that threatened to fall, "I've been trying so damn hard to move on, to get past the pain of losing her, but what I've really been doing is repressing that pain with anger. I shouldn't have acted like such an asshole to you."

"Am I really as ugly as a six?" She murmured, still refusing to look him in the eye or turn away from the counter.

He sighed softly, taking a few more steps towards her until he was standing right behind her. "You're not a six. You're not ugly. Half of the shit I said before was out of anger, some of the procedures I suggested weren't even necessary. Besides the rhinoplasty, there's not another thing about your face I would change. Some lipo from your abdomen, thighs, and butt, yes. As far as the boob job goes...well if you want it that bad, I might consider giving it to you."

She was quiet for a long moment. He reached out, gingerly setting his hand on her shoulder. "I won't hurt you," he reassured her softly, upon feeling her tense up beneath his touch. "I promise." He looked down at his feet, keeping his voice at a gentle tone. "Look, I don't blame you if you don't forgive me for what happened, but I just want you to know, I'd never do anything to hurt you. I would never lay on a hand on you. I'm not like that asshole of a father that raised you. You do know that, don't you sweetheart?"

A woeful sigh escaped her, and for a moment, he feared she might call him an asshole and tell him to get the hell out of her apartment, but then, after what seemed like an eternity, she turned around. She wrapped both of her arms around his waist, placing her head against his chest and embracing him lovingly. His heart warmed at her action. It didn't take him long to get over the initial surprise. Within seconds, his arms enveloped her own waist and he willingly brought himself closer to her, if that were even possible. He smiled softly, as a single tear escaped the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek. Planting a paternal kiss to the top of her head, he rested his cheek against it shortly after. His eyes fell closed, feeling her shake lightly against him. He scowled, sensing that she might in fact be crying. For a long moment, the two of them remained there, neither one of them saying a word to the other and simply cherishing the moment for what it was worth.

"I know." She murmured against his chest. "I know you'd never hurt me...physically anyway, and I appreciate that more than you know."

The soft smile returned to his face when he felt her hold him a little tighter. "I know I haven't been the best father in the world lately, and I haven't been spending quite as much time with you as I used to, but I love you Amy. I know I can be a huge asshole at times, and for that, I'm sorry. Look, the next time you come to me for help, I'll try not be such a prick about it, all right?"

She nodded her head in regard. "All right."

He opened his eyes, about to pull away from her when his gaze fixated on the shards of glass in the sink. His brows furrowed inquisitively, and as he took a closer look, he caught sight of part of the label on a larger piece of glass. At first he thought he was seeing things, but when he considered the fact that she was his biological daughter, her, drinking underage didn't come as much of a surprise to him. He pulled away and looked down into her face, a scowl crossing his face when he saw the tears in her eyes. "Dare I ask why there's a broken bottle of Pinot Grigio in the sink?" His brows arched expectantly.

Amy glanced in the direction of the sink, sniffling softly and rolling her eyes dramatically. "Don't ask. It's a long story that I'd rather not get into...ever again."

"To be honest, I could give a shit whether or not you were drinking last night. The bottle didn't come from my apartment, I know that for a fact. You'd never get past me. I'm just wondering where the hell it did come from."

She bit down on her bottom lip, exuding a deep sigh and looking down at her feet. "Courtney stole it from her dad's liquor cabinet. She came over last night and we had a couple drinks. She was just trying to help me drown out my sorrows." She brought her eyes back up to his face, "it didn't end well though and I spent most of the night puking. It was a stupid idea. You're not mad at me now, are you?"

Christian exhaled sharply. "No. Back when I was your age, I did it quite a few times myself actually. All I ask is that if you decide you want to have one drink in the privacy of your own home, or in my home, that's fine. I'm not going to get all bent out of shape over one little drink, but if you want to get shitfaced drunk every night and puke your guts out before you're twenty-one, don't plan on me paying to bail you out of jail, sweetie pie."

She waved her hand in the air. "Oh no, trust me, I don't think I'll ever have another drink again. Well, at least not until I'm twenty one, but even then, probably not that often. Last night was just..." She cringed, "a one time thing, that will never happen again."

His forehead wrinkled in thought. "Well I wasn't exactly implying you had to stay sober for the rest of your life either. Once you turn twenty one, feel free to do whatever the hell you want. Have a drink, go out and make a night of it while you're at it. I'm not going to stop you, but if you do go out and drink, you better make damn sure you've got someone sober to drive you home, hmm?"

She blinked, making a face before slowly nodding her head. "Um, okay."

Letting his arms fall back at his sides, he took a few steps back, leaning his hip against the back counter and looking over at her. He watched her as she crossed to the refridgerator, opened the door and retrieved a can of Mountain Dew from inside. "So, you feel like joining Sean & I for lunch tomorrow at the office? You know, for old time's sakes?"

She popped the top cap of the can, the contents inside fizzing. "Just as long as that asshole Quentin isn't there. I know I've said it before but I'm saying it again, I really wish you would fire his ass."

"That won't be necessary, he fired his own ass, packed up his shit and left this morning."

Upon hearing his words, Amy coughed, nearly choking on her soda. She blinked at him in utter astonishment. "He what? He quit?"

"Yep. He barged in on Sean and I this morning during surgery and asked us to buy him out." He noticed her forehead wrinkle in utter bewilderment, so he continued, "his contract, his partnership with Troy/McNamara."

"I thought it was McNamara/Troy?"

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. The point is, he's gone now. He quit, so feel free to stop by the office as often as you like."

A smile slowly spread across her face. "Well, that just made my whole week." He heard her mutter something under her breath that sounded a lot like, "looks like he finally grew a brain."

"I don't think its possible for cocks to grow brains," he remarked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She laughed. It was a comforting sound, especially since it was the first time he'd heard her laugh in days. "Probably not." Her features suddenly grew somber as she took a step towards him, leaning her hip against the counter adjacent to him. "So...about the surgeries, I think I'm just going to pass on the boob job, but I might want to get the other stuff done. No, actually, I do want to get the other stuff done. I just want to know one thing."

His brows arched expectantly. "What?"

She scowled, looking down at her feet in discouragement. "In your honest opinion, you know, once its all done, what number would I be then?"

"You mean after the rhinoplasty and the lipo?"

She nodded her head, slowly bringing her eyes up to his face. "Yeah."

He sighed deeply, swallowing the huge lump in his throat, and mustering up the courage to give her the full once over, which was rather pointless since he'd seen his daughter in more ways than he would have liked the previous day. "You'd be a nine."

Smiling softly, she set her can of Mountain Dew on the counter before turning towards him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she placed her head against his chest and embraced him for a second time. A weary sigh escaped her. "That's good enough for me."

He smiled tenderly, his arms willingly enveloping her much smaller frame, or close to it anyway. It was his fault for picking off her flaws in such a way, in the exact same way he'd done with Kimber when they'd first met, and looking back on the moment, he cringed. It had been unsettling enough for his daughter to be standing half-naked in front of him, but what was even more unsettling were the flashbacks he'd had of Kimber as he was marking up Amy's body. He'd seen her face, remembering the emptiness in her eyes and that out of place expression she'd projected to him. Amy didn't know it, but as well as he'd looked to have been holding it together during her consult, he had been a wreck inside. As far as he was concerned, he'd feel better not having to see his daughter that way, or repeat that experience ever again.