- 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐄𝐃 -
❝ can you stop with the compliments? ❞
❝ never. ❞
❝ maybe dreams are meant to just stay as that, dreams. ❞
❝ not all dreams come true, but maybe that's what makes them special. ❞
. . .
𝗔 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬 𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘...
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"So," Timothy voiced, smiling as he walked alongside Marcela, who was on her way to the clinic to check on her interns, "as much as I loved—"
"Hated." Marcela corrected, looking over the lines in the chart, "You hated the cupcakes."
"...Well— as much as they made me feel," Timothy improvised, chuckling, "I don't see why we can't try again."
"Hmm..." Marcela hummed, placing her chart down, "maybe the fact that I almost burned the last batch?" She pouted, placing the chart to her side, "I don't know how I perfected it one time. I swear I can cook— but baking will be the end of me."
Timothy laughed, "And that's perfectly fine—"
"Callie?" Marcela frowned her brows, catching sight of the resident rushing away into a supply closet before her mind connected dots, making her eyes turn to a squint as she scoffed, "Oh, wow."
Timothy frowned his brows, looking over his shoulder, "What—?"
Marcela, deciding to momentarily cheer herself up as she bid goodbye to her boyfriend, reached up to place a delicate kiss to his lips before backing away, "I'm gonna go kill my friend, I'll see you later tonight?"
Timothy cleared his throat with a nod, grinning as he watched her walk away, "Okay."
✶
"Why?" George's voice was heard from the end of the hall, boosting Marcela's mood to punch him as he continued, "Why is it better to do a surgery that neither of you have done than to do a surgery that you know at least gives her a chance at a normal life? Do you even know how to do this procedure?"
Richard Webber and Mark gave each other a glance before the former spoke as Marcela stood behind them, "Are you saying that we're too old to learn new ways, O'Malley?"
Instantly, George shook his head, "No."
"Are you saying we're old dogs who can't learn new tricks?" Webber continued, squinting at him as Mark joined in.
"Nope." Marcela voiced, making the two men turn their heads to face her before she walked over, "Mark, sure— he's an old dog, but you, Dr. Webber," Marcela grinned, watching as Mark glared at her, "are as young as a newborn puppy."
Webber smiled, "Why, thank you, De La Cruz."
"You're welcome." Marcela beamed, turning to George with a glare, "O'Malley, a word?"
As Mark and Webber began to discuss the procedure they would work on with their patient, Marcela dragged George to the nearest supply closet before locking themselves inside— confused, George began, "What—" Marcela, unable to control herself, smacked him across the face, "Ow—!"
