underground nightlife (or five bars that aren't joe's) {ensemble}
Title: Underground Nightlife (or Five Bars That Aren't Joe's)
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Ensemble. Most of this is character interaction, but there is some Callie/Arizona and Mark/Lexie to be found.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,192
Author's Note: I have been blocked regarding Grey's for about the past month. This is an attempt to get back in the groove, as prompted by a friend who not-so-wisely wondered aloud, therefore I hope it's up to par. Most of these take place Post Season 5, at some point in the future, though sections 1 and 2 are during Season 5.
Summary: It's not like Joe's is the only bar in Seattle, it's just that there's a reason they go there instead. Here's what happens when they don't.
I.
There aren’t any identifiable markings, not that Mark is really sure what he means by that, even when he shouts that at Derek in the parking lot, far louder than he should’ve if he didn’t want to get looks from at least half a dozen people. It’s not that he expected there to be a big neon sign, underneath the already present, already big, and already neon sign that let them know this particular place was called ‘Members Only’, but they really should give people some warning of just what they’re in for.
“It sounded upscale,” Mark insists, because he was the one who said that they should just pull over here, and, hey, it’s a valid point. “Members Only makes me think exclusive.”
Derek glares at him. “You of all people should not have had a problem making that connection.”
“What are you insinuating?”
“I’m insinuating that eighty percent of the words that come out of your mouth involve some sort of sexual innuendo. You know, that thing you call your charm.”
“It is my charm.” Judging by the look on his face, Derek very clearly doubts that. “You could have said no.”
“So now you’re blaming me.”
Completely aware of just how childish his next words are going to sound, he allows himself to take on the tone of a petulant child, along with the sulky look, for the sake of overdramatics. “You started it.”
Derek shakes his head. “Why did we take the same car?”
“To save gas.” Mark squints through the darkness, peering at the very attractive, very well-muscled man, who is currently both peering and pointing at him, or more specifically the closed car window. He’s glad for that because it saves him from hearing whatever it is the man is saying to the other man that he’s currently with. “I don’t think I want to know what he’s saying.”
“I think we heard everything we’re going to hear.” The light finally turns red and they pull out of the parking lot, onto the road that, after a twenty minute drive, will take them back to the hospital, his car, and later the safety of his hotel room where Lexie will ask about his guys night out and Mark will not do anything remotely considered blushing. He hopes she just went to sleep without him. Or stayed with Meredith. “It wasn’t that bad anyway.”
“Which part? The one where the nice gentleman laughed in my face when I told him that I didn’t swing that way after he tried to buy me a drink, or the one where they said we made a lovely couple and wanted to know how long we’d been together.” It takes him the entire monologue to realize that Derek’s snickering from behind the wheel. He hits him in the shoulder when they end up on the wrong side of yet another stop light. “And really, you didn’t have to say twenty years. It just wasn’t necessary.”
“It was funny.”
“And I have a reputation to maintain.”
“Yeah,” Derek starts, with this sarcastic tone to his voice that Mark just knows means he’s about to get called on something. “I think you shot that to hell when you started dating Lexie.”
“I can date and keep my reputation as the ladies man.” He understands just how cringe-worthy that last part is as soon as it’s out of his mouth, and it’s when he knows that he is clearly the one who had more to drink here.
“Yes, but you can’t hold hands on the way out the door or kiss her in front of half the interns.”
Mark glares; it’s futile since Derek isn’t looking. “Just drive.”
“Whatever you say, honey.”
He doesn’t wait for the stop light to hit Derek this time.
---
II.
By the time Lexie gets out of the bar her hair is a mess, her cheeks are flushed bright pink, and she’s fairly sure that Sadie just danced on top of a table, and if they could be any more cliché right now she isn’t quite sure how.
“I haven’t been to a bar that tacky since college.” Lexie says, as Sadie flings herself down into the backseat beside her. The cab smells thickly with cigar smoke and she coughs. She rattles off Meredith’s address to the driver and feels the wheels start moving, leaning back against her seat.
“I believe you mean fun, not tacky.” Sadie says, a strand of hair catching in what remains of the red lip-gloss that she was wearing when they left for the night; the rest of it is on the two very drunk, most likely actual college boys that she decided to make out with.
She meant tacky. Really. “We should’ve gone to Joe’s,” she says, echoing the same sentiment that she had when she walked into the place and took stock of it.
“Joe’s gets boring after a while. You’ve got to mix it up.”
“Well it definitely wasn’t boring,” Lexie replies, thinking that she can at least say that much.
“Exactly. It was fun.”
“It won’t be in the morning.”
Sadie scowls, sitting up a little straighter like she’s trying to fake absolute sobriety. “You’re turning into your sister. She used to be so much fun,” there’s that word again, “in Europe, and then poof,” insert exaggerated gesture here, “she’s all professional and set a good example and…boring.”
Which, okay, while she wouldn’t call Meredith boring, she does have serious trouble reconciling the woman she knows and the one she hears traveled Europe and did things that apparently require whispers and warning glances. Meredith’s not boring, in fact she used to be the subject of more gossip at Seattle Grace than Mark was, but, not now. Now that image doesn’t make sense.
“You just need to loosen up a bit,” Sadie says, in a tone that could imply that she’s actually hitting on her, except Lexie’s starting to realize that when Sadie’s drunk she just always talks that.
“Sadie,” she waits patiently for the other woman’s eyes to find hers, before she enunciates her words, like she would to a small child, “I’m pretty sure I saw someone actually put a roofie in some girl’s drink. Don’t you think that crosses the line between fun and sort of dangerous?”
Sadie just frowns at her. Clearly, that would be a no. It’s kind of pointless making a rational argument to someone that drunk anyways. Because Lexie is well aware that she’s had too much to drink and yet she can still think with some amount of common sense and logic. Either Sadie’s reserves of that go quicker or she’s had about twice what Lexie’s had.
“In the morning, you will thank me for making you leave when we did.”
“Not likely,” the blonde replies, making something like significant eye contact with the cab driver in the rearview mirror, and Lexie just shakes her head and tries not to look, intent on getting home and dragging Sadie inside with her.
She’ll take boring Joe’s over roofie’s and boys who still think Axe actually smells good any day.
---
III.
“You just figured…dancing?”
Arizona smiles, sly, but keeps her eyes focused on the road. That’s okay, Callie’s eyes have been switching between Arizona’s face and all the wonderful things that just dress she’s wearing does for her body. Not that it really needed help. “Something like that.”
Ordinarily Callie would let something like that go, but Arizona’s wearing the look of someone who actually wants her to follow through, if just for the fun of withholding whatever answer she’s got, so Callie plays along. “Why do I not like the sound of that?”
“I don’t know Calliope,” Arizona says, her smile widening on Callie’s full name. She’s noticed that Arizona likes saying it for some reason that’s beyond her. All it makes her think of is various currently-estranged family members who used to call her that whenever she did something wrong in her youth, which was, in fact, quite often. The tone was very, very different however. “You tell me.”
Callie watches her, carefully, but doesn’t say a word, deciding that quiet will drive Arizona crazy, and if this is a game, and she thinks it might be, getting Arizona to just give in and tell her would make her the winner. And she really, really enjoys being the winner.
A few times, Arizona looks over at her, increasingly anxious each time, from the way her grin kind of becomes fake at the corners and her fingers tap at the steering wheel to a beat that is entirely unrelated to the music that’s playing on low from the radio. Callie just keeps staring at her. “Fine, okay. Apparently there’s some story about the Chief finding you dancing in your underwear in the hospital, and I thought, hey, dancing, we could try dancing.”
Now Callie breaks her gaze to blush a deep crimson. She covers quickly by saying, “Okay, first off, that story has probably been completely exaggerated.”
“I’m sure it has,” Arizona replies, amused, and, okay, it’s a little funny. Both the fact that apparently that story is still circulating in some small way, and that Arizona heard it and thought skipping Joe’s and going to a bar with actual dancing was the logical move to take. “Maybe you can clear some of those exaggerations up for me over some cheap wine tonight.”
It’s a self-invitation, shameless at that, and Callie laughs, replying, “We don’t need to settle for the cheap stuff; I live with Cristina remember? Best friends with Meredith Grey?” Point being, the liquor cabinet is usually better stocked than the refrigerator and Cristina isn’t particularly picky about sharing things. “And I was living in the hospital at the time. It wasn’t like he found me wasted in a hallway, getting my groove on or whatever.”
“And this was back when you still had your trust fund?” Arizona frowns, very clearly puzzled by the interesting turn of events. Living in the hospital while possessing all the money in the world, or at least much more than was necessary, and then moving into an apartment shortly before her dad cuts her off. “Isn’t that a little backwards?”
“Now that you point it out.” Callie tries for a laugh but it sounds uneasy. Money still isn’t a topic that she’s entirely comfortable with, despite the fact that she kind of walked right into this one. And that she’s already had numerous conversations regarding it with Arizona, so, really, there’s no stone left unturned and relatively nothing to hide. And yet. Her voice is uncharacteristically small when she says, “It was fun though. It was good.”
“The dancing?” Arizona asks, smiling as soon as she knows that she’s right. “See, sometimes you just have to trust me.”
They zoom down the highway and Callie thinks for the first time in a long while, and in an even longer series of relationships with terrible endings, that she might, and she just might find her footing again.
---
IV.
She can’t breathe. Not in the oh my god, I’m suffocating here, kind of way, but more in the flushed, completely wired for sound, adrenaline pumping through her veins kind of way. Izzie’s more up than she’s been in quiet some time, totally and undeniably alive.
It might have something to do with the alcohol. And the lights. Maybe the applause from the other people who had too much alcohol and were feeling similarly, and quite possibly had at some point become tone deaf.
“That was like a bad bachelorette party.”
“You say that like it’s from experience.”
There’s a groan. “It is.”
“I haven’t sung in front of other people since I got roped into some high school play freshman year.”
Meredith laughs at that notion. “You mean except for in the shower.” Izzie looks at her, glad for the fact that her cheeks are already a faint pink from something other than slight embarrassment. “When you’re happy, you’re loud, which by the way? Really not just limited to the singing.”
“Not one to talk,” Izzie replies, hearing Cristina snicker from next to Meredith. She doesn’t give Meredith the satisfaction of looking in her direction to catch sight of the glare she just knows is burning into her skin. “It’s true.”
“At least I don’t sing in the shower,” Meredith replies, and Izzie could make a comment about other things that Meredith does in the shower, along with Derek, that make just as much noise, but she won’t because they aren’t children and this really isn’t about who can one up who. Although that would be fun.
“Um, did we know that was a karaoke bar? You know before you dragged me in there?” Cristina pipes back up again, leaning over Meredith to look at Izzie, maybe, scratch that, most likely, because she’s the one who gives herself away easier. She makes a valiant effort not to smile, but yeah, she did know, and Meredith had an inkling that something was up but didn’t really ask a whole lot of questions about that ‘something stupid and fun’ thing that Izzie suggested they do after they got off shift. “Because next time I would really appreciate knowing before I go make a fool of myself in front of a bunch of people.”
“That you will never see again,” Meredith adds, frowning, and at the last second throwing in, “Unless they’re patients. And then they’ll really doubt our abilities.”
“It’s competition,” Izzie says, giving Meredith a glare of her own at the comment because, hey, not helping. “You like competition.”
Cristina shakes her head rather vehemently. “It is not a competition.”
“It is.”
“How?”
“To see who gets the loudest applause,” Izzie insists, feeling the cab they’re in lurch a little. It makes her head do some weird swimmy thing that she’s weirdly enjoying right now. It’s a painless, embarrassment free zone.
“That isn’t always based on singing ability.” Cristina gives Izzie a shaky but deliberate once-over, before continuing, “Clearly.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh god,” Meredith groans, slapping a hand over her eyes as she leans back, essentially taking herself out of the way of Cristina and Izzie’s suddenly exclusive conversation.
“You were a model. You figure it out.”
“Jealous,” Izzie replies, exactly like she’s twelve, complete with not so intimidating lean in and cock of the head.
“Yeah,” Cristina scoffs, “That’ll be the day.”
Meredith sits up straight, sticking her head in between the drivers’ side and the passenger at the front of the car and inquiring to the driver if they could please go any faster or, you know, take a shortcut. The cabbie says something Izzie can’t quite make out but Meredith is leaning back into her seat heavily once more seconds later, so she guesses that would be a no.
They’re quite for a minute or two, they’re mostly alcohol fuelled, most friendly feud simmering, until Izzie says, “Ever think that maybe I got that applause because I was actually in a play and might be, you know, good?”
A snort from the other side of the car, then, “Someone’s drunk.”
Izzie doesn’t remember the rest of the car ride, all ten minutes of it, or getting back home and in bed, but Meredith does and Alex keeps making comments about almost chick fights, so maybe she doesn’t actually want to know.
---
V.
They are very quiet on the drive home, and it’s not like there’s no reason for it, but really they shouldn’t be. And really they should’ve, and sort of have, both learned their lesson before.
“I knew the clientele started changing at eleven.” Mark says, finally, five minutes in.
“Did the women get prettier or the men get more frequent?” Lexie asks, joking, a wry smile on her lips. Mark appears to think that she’s far more bothered by this little experience than she actually is. He does what could be considered wise in some circles and keeps his mouth closed. “I’m gonna guess the latter. And seriously, it’s not a big deal.”
The smile he produces stretches far too tight across his lips to actually be genuine. “Not that I know much about dating, but from what I’ve seen guys don’t really take their girlfriends to strip clubs.”
“Topless bar,” she corrects, getting a less than amused look for her troubles. She’s still right. “And actually most guys don’t go to strip clubs without their girlfriends, unless they want to be dumped or, you know, deprived of sex.”
“So are you saying that you want to be taken to strip clubs?” She eyes him, waiting patiently for him to correct the error. “Topless bars. Whatever.”
“No, I’m making a point.” She replies, finally, and his gaze drifts back onto the road. “But thank you for missing it entirely.”
“I know what you meant,” he concedes, before she’s even had the chance to finish her sentence, and she rolls her eyes, now seeing it as the smartass comment that it really was.
“Sounds like it,” she remarks, the last shot she’ll take at him on the topic. Her next words are meant to be said under her breath, but the radio is off and the windows are up, so he hears every single word of it. “All I’m saying is I’ve been to worse.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his lips twitching at the corners, and she knows what he’s going to ask before he asks it. “Like?”
She shifts in her seat, not at all wanting to tell the tale of Sadie’s table dancing antics, but his question jogs her memory, and she turns the tables on him altogether. “You know I seem to remember you coming home red-faced and overly touchy with Derek a couple of weeks ago. Mind telling me what that was about?”
“That?” His voice is a full octave higher than normal, and that’s how she knows that she hit a nerve. “That was nothing.”
“Really?” She asks, like there’s even a chance that she’s buying what he’s selling. “Because I also seem to remember Derek saying something about you losing your touch and a whole lot of glaring.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, making a good show of playing innocent, and she laughs, her shoulder nudging his as she moves closer to him, not at all about to let this go.
“Well,” she begins, quite close to his ear, “I guess I’ll just have to call Derek and ask him if you don’t remember.”
It must take some very concentrated effort to keep his foot from slipping off the gas pedal, and he makes a sound that’s a cross between a groan and the clearing of his throat.
She sits back down fully in her seat, shrugging, as she adds, “Or you could just tell me.”
Mark spends the rest of the ride home stumbling over his words and the last two minutes of the drive the car is filled with nothing but her hysterical laughter. It’s as good of a bedtime story as any.
Fandom: Grey's Anatomy
Characters/Pairings: Ensemble. Most of this is character interaction, but there is some Callie/Arizona and Mark/Lexie to be found.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,192
Author's Note: I have been blocked regarding Grey's for about the past month. This is an attempt to get back in the groove, as prompted by a friend who not-so-wisely wondered aloud, therefore I hope it's up to par. Most of these take place Post Season 5, at some point in the future, though sections 1 and 2 are during Season 5.
Summary: It's not like Joe's is the only bar in Seattle, it's just that there's a reason they go there instead. Here's what happens when they don't.
I.
There aren’t any identifiable markings, not that Mark is really sure what he means by that, even when he shouts that at Derek in the parking lot, far louder than he should’ve if he didn’t want to get looks from at least half a dozen people. It’s not that he expected there to be a big neon sign, underneath the already present, already big, and already neon sign that let them know this particular place was called ‘Members Only’, but they really should give people some warning of just what they’re in for.
“It sounded upscale,” Mark insists, because he was the one who said that they should just pull over here, and, hey, it’s a valid point. “Members Only makes me think exclusive.”
Derek glares at him. “You of all people should not have had a problem making that connection.”
“What are you insinuating?”
“I’m insinuating that eighty percent of the words that come out of your mouth involve some sort of sexual innuendo. You know, that thing you call your charm.”
“It is my charm.” Judging by the look on his face, Derek very clearly doubts that. “You could have said no.”
“So now you’re blaming me.”
Completely aware of just how childish his next words are going to sound, he allows himself to take on the tone of a petulant child, along with the sulky look, for the sake of overdramatics. “You started it.”
Derek shakes his head. “Why did we take the same car?”
“To save gas.” Mark squints through the darkness, peering at the very attractive, very well-muscled man, who is currently both peering and pointing at him, or more specifically the closed car window. He’s glad for that because it saves him from hearing whatever it is the man is saying to the other man that he’s currently with. “I don’t think I want to know what he’s saying.”
“I think we heard everything we’re going to hear.” The light finally turns red and they pull out of the parking lot, onto the road that, after a twenty minute drive, will take them back to the hospital, his car, and later the safety of his hotel room where Lexie will ask about his guys night out and Mark will not do anything remotely considered blushing. He hopes she just went to sleep without him. Or stayed with Meredith. “It wasn’t that bad anyway.”
“Which part? The one where the nice gentleman laughed in my face when I told him that I didn’t swing that way after he tried to buy me a drink, or the one where they said we made a lovely couple and wanted to know how long we’d been together.” It takes him the entire monologue to realize that Derek’s snickering from behind the wheel. He hits him in the shoulder when they end up on the wrong side of yet another stop light. “And really, you didn’t have to say twenty years. It just wasn’t necessary.”
“It was funny.”
“And I have a reputation to maintain.”
“Yeah,” Derek starts, with this sarcastic tone to his voice that Mark just knows means he’s about to get called on something. “I think you shot that to hell when you started dating Lexie.”
“I can date and keep my reputation as the ladies man.” He understands just how cringe-worthy that last part is as soon as it’s out of his mouth, and it’s when he knows that he is clearly the one who had more to drink here.
“Yes, but you can’t hold hands on the way out the door or kiss her in front of half the interns.”
Mark glares; it’s futile since Derek isn’t looking. “Just drive.”
“Whatever you say, honey.”
He doesn’t wait for the stop light to hit Derek this time.
---
II.
By the time Lexie gets out of the bar her hair is a mess, her cheeks are flushed bright pink, and she’s fairly sure that Sadie just danced on top of a table, and if they could be any more cliché right now she isn’t quite sure how.
“I haven’t been to a bar that tacky since college.” Lexie says, as Sadie flings herself down into the backseat beside her. The cab smells thickly with cigar smoke and she coughs. She rattles off Meredith’s address to the driver and feels the wheels start moving, leaning back against her seat.
“I believe you mean fun, not tacky.” Sadie says, a strand of hair catching in what remains of the red lip-gloss that she was wearing when they left for the night; the rest of it is on the two very drunk, most likely actual college boys that she decided to make out with.
She meant tacky. Really. “We should’ve gone to Joe’s,” she says, echoing the same sentiment that she had when she walked into the place and took stock of it.
“Joe’s gets boring after a while. You’ve got to mix it up.”
“Well it definitely wasn’t boring,” Lexie replies, thinking that she can at least say that much.
“Exactly. It was fun.”
“It won’t be in the morning.”
Sadie scowls, sitting up a little straighter like she’s trying to fake absolute sobriety. “You’re turning into your sister. She used to be so much fun,” there’s that word again, “in Europe, and then poof,” insert exaggerated gesture here, “she’s all professional and set a good example and…boring.”
Which, okay, while she wouldn’t call Meredith boring, she does have serious trouble reconciling the woman she knows and the one she hears traveled Europe and did things that apparently require whispers and warning glances. Meredith’s not boring, in fact she used to be the subject of more gossip at Seattle Grace than Mark was, but, not now. Now that image doesn’t make sense.
“You just need to loosen up a bit,” Sadie says, in a tone that could imply that she’s actually hitting on her, except Lexie’s starting to realize that when Sadie’s drunk she just always talks that.
“Sadie,” she waits patiently for the other woman’s eyes to find hers, before she enunciates her words, like she would to a small child, “I’m pretty sure I saw someone actually put a roofie in some girl’s drink. Don’t you think that crosses the line between fun and sort of dangerous?”
Sadie just frowns at her. Clearly, that would be a no. It’s kind of pointless making a rational argument to someone that drunk anyways. Because Lexie is well aware that she’s had too much to drink and yet she can still think with some amount of common sense and logic. Either Sadie’s reserves of that go quicker or she’s had about twice what Lexie’s had.
“In the morning, you will thank me for making you leave when we did.”
“Not likely,” the blonde replies, making something like significant eye contact with the cab driver in the rearview mirror, and Lexie just shakes her head and tries not to look, intent on getting home and dragging Sadie inside with her.
She’ll take boring Joe’s over roofie’s and boys who still think Axe actually smells good any day.
---
III.
“You just figured…dancing?”
Arizona smiles, sly, but keeps her eyes focused on the road. That’s okay, Callie’s eyes have been switching between Arizona’s face and all the wonderful things that just dress she’s wearing does for her body. Not that it really needed help. “Something like that.”
Ordinarily Callie would let something like that go, but Arizona’s wearing the look of someone who actually wants her to follow through, if just for the fun of withholding whatever answer she’s got, so Callie plays along. “Why do I not like the sound of that?”
“I don’t know Calliope,” Arizona says, her smile widening on Callie’s full name. She’s noticed that Arizona likes saying it for some reason that’s beyond her. All it makes her think of is various currently-estranged family members who used to call her that whenever she did something wrong in her youth, which was, in fact, quite often. The tone was very, very different however. “You tell me.”
Callie watches her, carefully, but doesn’t say a word, deciding that quiet will drive Arizona crazy, and if this is a game, and she thinks it might be, getting Arizona to just give in and tell her would make her the winner. And she really, really enjoys being the winner.
A few times, Arizona looks over at her, increasingly anxious each time, from the way her grin kind of becomes fake at the corners and her fingers tap at the steering wheel to a beat that is entirely unrelated to the music that’s playing on low from the radio. Callie just keeps staring at her. “Fine, okay. Apparently there’s some story about the Chief finding you dancing in your underwear in the hospital, and I thought, hey, dancing, we could try dancing.”
Now Callie breaks her gaze to blush a deep crimson. She covers quickly by saying, “Okay, first off, that story has probably been completely exaggerated.”
“I’m sure it has,” Arizona replies, amused, and, okay, it’s a little funny. Both the fact that apparently that story is still circulating in some small way, and that Arizona heard it and thought skipping Joe’s and going to a bar with actual dancing was the logical move to take. “Maybe you can clear some of those exaggerations up for me over some cheap wine tonight.”
It’s a self-invitation, shameless at that, and Callie laughs, replying, “We don’t need to settle for the cheap stuff; I live with Cristina remember? Best friends with Meredith Grey?” Point being, the liquor cabinet is usually better stocked than the refrigerator and Cristina isn’t particularly picky about sharing things. “And I was living in the hospital at the time. It wasn’t like he found me wasted in a hallway, getting my groove on or whatever.”
“And this was back when you still had your trust fund?” Arizona frowns, very clearly puzzled by the interesting turn of events. Living in the hospital while possessing all the money in the world, or at least much more than was necessary, and then moving into an apartment shortly before her dad cuts her off. “Isn’t that a little backwards?”
“Now that you point it out.” Callie tries for a laugh but it sounds uneasy. Money still isn’t a topic that she’s entirely comfortable with, despite the fact that she kind of walked right into this one. And that she’s already had numerous conversations regarding it with Arizona, so, really, there’s no stone left unturned and relatively nothing to hide. And yet. Her voice is uncharacteristically small when she says, “It was fun though. It was good.”
“The dancing?” Arizona asks, smiling as soon as she knows that she’s right. “See, sometimes you just have to trust me.”
They zoom down the highway and Callie thinks for the first time in a long while, and in an even longer series of relationships with terrible endings, that she might, and she just might find her footing again.
---
IV.
She can’t breathe. Not in the oh my god, I’m suffocating here, kind of way, but more in the flushed, completely wired for sound, adrenaline pumping through her veins kind of way. Izzie’s more up than she’s been in quiet some time, totally and undeniably alive.
It might have something to do with the alcohol. And the lights. Maybe the applause from the other people who had too much alcohol and were feeling similarly, and quite possibly had at some point become tone deaf.
“That was like a bad bachelorette party.”
“You say that like it’s from experience.”
There’s a groan. “It is.”
“I haven’t sung in front of other people since I got roped into some high school play freshman year.”
Meredith laughs at that notion. “You mean except for in the shower.” Izzie looks at her, glad for the fact that her cheeks are already a faint pink from something other than slight embarrassment. “When you’re happy, you’re loud, which by the way? Really not just limited to the singing.”
“Not one to talk,” Izzie replies, hearing Cristina snicker from next to Meredith. She doesn’t give Meredith the satisfaction of looking in her direction to catch sight of the glare she just knows is burning into her skin. “It’s true.”
“At least I don’t sing in the shower,” Meredith replies, and Izzie could make a comment about other things that Meredith does in the shower, along with Derek, that make just as much noise, but she won’t because they aren’t children and this really isn’t about who can one up who. Although that would be fun.
“Um, did we know that was a karaoke bar? You know before you dragged me in there?” Cristina pipes back up again, leaning over Meredith to look at Izzie, maybe, scratch that, most likely, because she’s the one who gives herself away easier. She makes a valiant effort not to smile, but yeah, she did know, and Meredith had an inkling that something was up but didn’t really ask a whole lot of questions about that ‘something stupid and fun’ thing that Izzie suggested they do after they got off shift. “Because next time I would really appreciate knowing before I go make a fool of myself in front of a bunch of people.”
“That you will never see again,” Meredith adds, frowning, and at the last second throwing in, “Unless they’re patients. And then they’ll really doubt our abilities.”
“It’s competition,” Izzie says, giving Meredith a glare of her own at the comment because, hey, not helping. “You like competition.”
Cristina shakes her head rather vehemently. “It is not a competition.”
“It is.”
“How?”
“To see who gets the loudest applause,” Izzie insists, feeling the cab they’re in lurch a little. It makes her head do some weird swimmy thing that she’s weirdly enjoying right now. It’s a painless, embarrassment free zone.
“That isn’t always based on singing ability.” Cristina gives Izzie a shaky but deliberate once-over, before continuing, “Clearly.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh god,” Meredith groans, slapping a hand over her eyes as she leans back, essentially taking herself out of the way of Cristina and Izzie’s suddenly exclusive conversation.
“You were a model. You figure it out.”
“Jealous,” Izzie replies, exactly like she’s twelve, complete with not so intimidating lean in and cock of the head.
“Yeah,” Cristina scoffs, “That’ll be the day.”
Meredith sits up straight, sticking her head in between the drivers’ side and the passenger at the front of the car and inquiring to the driver if they could please go any faster or, you know, take a shortcut. The cabbie says something Izzie can’t quite make out but Meredith is leaning back into her seat heavily once more seconds later, so she guesses that would be a no.
They’re quite for a minute or two, they’re mostly alcohol fuelled, most friendly feud simmering, until Izzie says, “Ever think that maybe I got that applause because I was actually in a play and might be, you know, good?”
A snort from the other side of the car, then, “Someone’s drunk.”
Izzie doesn’t remember the rest of the car ride, all ten minutes of it, or getting back home and in bed, but Meredith does and Alex keeps making comments about almost chick fights, so maybe she doesn’t actually want to know.
---
V.
They are very quiet on the drive home, and it’s not like there’s no reason for it, but really they shouldn’t be. And really they should’ve, and sort of have, both learned their lesson before.
“I knew the clientele started changing at eleven.” Mark says, finally, five minutes in.
“Did the women get prettier or the men get more frequent?” Lexie asks, joking, a wry smile on her lips. Mark appears to think that she’s far more bothered by this little experience than she actually is. He does what could be considered wise in some circles and keeps his mouth closed. “I’m gonna guess the latter. And seriously, it’s not a big deal.”
The smile he produces stretches far too tight across his lips to actually be genuine. “Not that I know much about dating, but from what I’ve seen guys don’t really take their girlfriends to strip clubs.”
“Topless bar,” she corrects, getting a less than amused look for her troubles. She’s still right. “And actually most guys don’t go to strip clubs without their girlfriends, unless they want to be dumped or, you know, deprived of sex.”
“So are you saying that you want to be taken to strip clubs?” She eyes him, waiting patiently for him to correct the error. “Topless bars. Whatever.”
“No, I’m making a point.” She replies, finally, and his gaze drifts back onto the road. “But thank you for missing it entirely.”
“I know what you meant,” he concedes, before she’s even had the chance to finish her sentence, and she rolls her eyes, now seeing it as the smartass comment that it really was.
“Sounds like it,” she remarks, the last shot she’ll take at him on the topic. Her next words are meant to be said under her breath, but the radio is off and the windows are up, so he hears every single word of it. “All I’m saying is I’ve been to worse.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his lips twitching at the corners, and she knows what he’s going to ask before he asks it. “Like?”
She shifts in her seat, not at all wanting to tell the tale of Sadie’s table dancing antics, but his question jogs her memory, and she turns the tables on him altogether. “You know I seem to remember you coming home red-faced and overly touchy with Derek a couple of weeks ago. Mind telling me what that was about?”
“That?” His voice is a full octave higher than normal, and that’s how she knows that she hit a nerve. “That was nothing.”
“Really?” She asks, like there’s even a chance that she’s buying what he’s selling. “Because I also seem to remember Derek saying something about you losing your touch and a whole lot of glaring.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, making a good show of playing innocent, and she laughs, her shoulder nudging his as she moves closer to him, not at all about to let this go.
“Well,” she begins, quite close to his ear, “I guess I’ll just have to call Derek and ask him if you don’t remember.”
It must take some very concentrated effort to keep his foot from slipping off the gas pedal, and he makes a sound that’s a cross between a groan and the clearing of his throat.
She sits back down fully in her seat, shrugging, as she adds, “Or you could just tell me.”
Mark spends the rest of the ride home stumbling over his words and the last two minutes of the drive the car is filled with nothing but her hysterical laughter. It’s as good of a bedtime story as any.